


Confidence Trick

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: 15k Max, And Look at Where We Are Now, Bondage, Breathplay, Dom/sub, Drug Runner AU, F/M, Flings Trash at You and Runs Away, Flynn is a Massive Trash Fire as Usual, Gray Morality FTW, Human Disaster Garcia Flynn, I Swear These Tags Make it Seem Like it's All About Sex But There's a Shit Ton of Plot I Swear, Lucy is the Sophisticated Top We All Need in Our Lives, M/M, Mafia AU, Multi, Orgasm Delay, So Much D/s Dear God, This Was Supposed to Be 10k, Trash ot3, Wyatt Logan is a Massive Sub, Wyatt Logan's Bisexuality Crisis, based on a gifset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 21:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: When police officer Wyatt Logan is tapped to go undercover and get information on the notorious Lucy Preston and Garcia Flynn, he expects it’ll be his toughest assignment yet. What he doesn’t expect is to fall for his marks—and the fallout that comes with it.





	Confidence Trick

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this fantastic gifset by koortega: http://koortega.tumblr.com/post/180963693763/garcyatt-au-the-drug-runner-detective-wyatt

The moment Wyatt Logan walked into the building he knew shit was going down.

“Denise wants you,” Dave whispered, looking terrified. Dave “Bam Bam” Baumgardner was, Wyatt was pretty sure, a Labrador retriever that had accidentally gotten transformed into human and was too polite to ask people to change him back. Denise Christopher, their boss, was part tiger and therefore understandably terrified him.

The whole ‘please call me Denise’ thing was just a lie to lure people into a false sense of security. Wyatt had seen her metaphorically bite off the head of the NYPD Commissioner, so.

When he walked into Denise’s office, she was looking calm. But then, she always looked calm. “Logan, please, sit. Baumgardner, you can stay.”

Rufus Carlin, one of the tecchies, was sitting there as well and looking like it was far too early in the morning for this bullshit. About once a month, at least, Rufus threatened to quit and go work for his mentor Connor Mason, head of Mason Industries and the guy who’d put Rufus through MIT. Jury was still out on whether this threat was serious or not, seeing as Rufus had stuck around so far.

“Close the door,” Denise added.

Wyatt closed the door and then sat down, as he was told.

“Now, Logan, I hate to bring this up, but how long has it been since Jessica died?”

Wyatt flinched. “Going for the throat today, chief.”

Denise raised an eyebrow at him.

“Two and a half years, ma’am.”

“All right. And how long did you run moonshine when you were a teenager?”

“That’s taken off the official record—”

“I know. But how long did you do it?”

“Three years, from fifteen to when I turned eighteen and could enlist in the army.”

“Mmhmm. Says here you could’ve gone into the Rangers but decided to come home and be a cop instead to be close to your wife.”

“You know all this, why do you—”

“Police chief has told me that it’s high time we put a mole in the Petrovs,” Denise said, cutting him off. “Specifically in the arm of their NYC operations, run by Preston and Flynn.”

Everyone knew about Preston and Flynn. Lucy Preston, married to Garcia Flynn, the former born and raised in the Rittenhouse crime family and the latter originally from Croatia and a rising star in the Petrov ranks who’d gotten himself head of the stateside operations in only six and a half years. Preston deflecting from her family to marry Flynn and join the Petrov clan had been… unsettling for the criminal underworld, to say the least. Whether the marriage was strictly business or something more, opinion seemed to be divided.

Denise had tangled with Flynn a couple of times, and she probably had a good guess herself on whether or not marital relations were upheld. But she wasn’t talking.

The Rittenhouse family, where Preston came from, they were old school, insanely so. And annoyingly proud of their mafia heritage. It was a real thorn in the DA’s side that they hadn’t gotten any paperwork that would let them arrest the shitheads yet, especially when the family in question was going around operating things like a whisky company called “Rittenhouse Rye” that everyone knew immediately was a front.

What had led the heir of the close-knit group to deflect, nobody knew. But Preston had proven herself no less formidable than Flynn, if slightly less hands-on in the bloody executions. Flynn, if you asked Wyatt, was a sociopath, plain and simple. Preston… he couldn’t even fathom a guess at her.

“You want me to go undercover?”

“You were never caught in your teenage years, you served in active duty overseas, including some bodyguard work, you’re perfect for them.”

“No offense ma’am but Bam Bam here…”

“Look at that man’s face,” Denise said. “He couldn’t tell a lie if his life depended on it. And he’s not the one whose wife was killed by a cop.”

Wyatt swallowed hard.

Jessica Logan had been pretty, white, and female, but none of those usual advantages had been there for her when she’d started writing a report on corrupt cops as an investigative reporter. She’d been arrested on a trumped-up speeding charge, taken to jail, and found hanged in her cell—suicide, it was ruled.

Wyatt had been out on a training exercise at the academy when he’d heard the news. It had felt like the whole world had stopped moving.

How did a woman “resist arrest” so badly her arm got broken? And how did she then hang herself while said arm was broken?

They even knew the cop who did it, but the jury didn’t convict him. The ‘not guilty’ still rang in Wyatt’s ears at night sometimes.

Jess had been his high school sweetheart, his best friend. The only good thing about his hometown. She’d been pursuing justice and they’d killed her for it.

“You’ve only been a cop for a couple years. We can easily erase that information. You’ll have an understandable resentment against the law, you’ll have a history of running—alcohol and not drugs but tomayto tomahto—and experience in the army that they’ll appreciate.”

Wyatt felt blindsided. “But—but Christopher, ma’am, Denise—”

“If it’s too much, Wyatt, I understand,” Denise said, her voice going gentle. “I really do. But I think you’re the best man for the job. You’re just their type.”

Wyatt glanced over at Dave, the closest thing he had to a compass since Jess had died. Dave shrugged. “Hell, I say go for it. What’ve you got to lose at this point? And it’ll give you something to focus on.”

True, it would. Jess’s death had left him hollow, directionless, with nowhere to turn. Maybe this would, at least, give him a feeling of purpose again.

“All right,” he said. “I’m in.”

 

* * *

 

Of course, Wyatt couldn’t just waltz into the middle of operations and announce he was there to work for a criminal organization. This had to be done carefully.

He was given a new apartment, asked Dave to look after his old one, got his records as a police officer scrubbed clean, and took up work as a mechanic at a local car garage that rumor had it helped service the cars used by the Preston-Flynn runners.

Wyatt struck up a friendship with some of the guys, and ended up telling some fun tales from when he was running from the law as a moonshine runner, over the Texan-Mexico border. It had been the only way he knew how to get money to live independent from his abusive dad, but hey, nobody needed to know about that part.

About a couple months into his new job, two people walked into the shop around closing.

The first was a woman about five inches shorter than Wyatt, wearing a dark brown striped skirt and sweater top with a chic burgundy vest sort of top over it, her hair a mass of gorgeous dark curls partially tamed by the burgundy beret in her hair.

With her was a tall man, at least six feet but probably more, in a sharp dark gray suit with a dark red tie and pocket square, presumably to match the woman.

Holy shit. He’d seen pictures of Preston and Flynn—he’d seen pictures of all the major players in his prep work—but they were. Wow.

Yeah. Just… wow.

“You Wyatt Logan?” Flynn asked. His voice was casual and sharp at the same time.

Wyatt nodded. “Yes. And you are…?”

He stuck his hand out. “Garcia Flynn.”

Wyatt shook it. “Ah.”

“I assume you’ve heard of us, judging by the look on your face.” Lucy Preston gave him a blood-red smile. “I’m Lucy Preston.”

“Ah, yes, ma’am, I have heard of you.”

Lucy looked pleased to be called ‘ma’am’ and a little thrill tightened Wyatt’s stomach. He called Denise ma’am all the time, so he wasn’t sure why doing this to Lucy Preston would make him feel a little, um, hot under the collar.

“Then you probably won’t be surprised to know why we want to talk to you,” Flynn said. “And that we’d like you to take a little drive with us to somewhere more… private.”

“Did I piss you guys off or something?” Wyatt asked. “You guys were the ones who wanted that hidden boot in the trunk right, I did it to the modifications—”

“The spring lock was ingenious,” Preston assured him. “No, we wanted to talk to you about a business opportunity. We heard about some of your… old habits in your misspent youth and wanted to know if you’d be willing to misspend a little of your older years as well.”

“I like to think I’m not that old,” Wyatt replied, trying to crack a joke.

Preston took a good, long look up and down his body. “No… no you’re not,” she told him, the corner of her mouth curling upward. “So?”

Wyatt pretended to think for a moment. “Ah… sure?”

“Excellent.” Flynn turned and offered his arm to his wife. Preston took it, smiling up at him, and Wyatt followed.

There was a sleek black car waiting for them with a bored looking man in the driver’s seat. “To the office, Karl,” Flynn instructed as they got in.

The man, Karl, started up the car and they drove.

As they did so, Preston started questioning him on his army history, his moonshine running, and so on. Wyatt was able to answer all of those questions honestly.

“And…” Her dark eyes flicked up to him momentarily. “Your wife?”

Wyatt’s voice was rough. “Jessica. She was—she was trying to expose corruption in the police force and they killed her for it.”

“Bastards,” Preston said idly. “You know the woman practically running Rittenhouse now, she used to be a cop.”

Every cop by now had heard the story of Emma Whitmore. It was a cautionary tale, what happened when you got too deep in your undercover work and switched sides, became the enemy.

Wyatt privately vowed to never be like her. He’d keep his head on straight.

“My condolences,” Flynn said quietly.

They pulled up in front of an apartment building and got out, Wyatt following. He saw no reason to be difficult, and while he couldn’t detect any guns, he had little doubt that Flynn and possibly even Preston had one on them.

They took the elevator up to the top floor, where two men stood guard.

“Ben, Ivan,” Flynn said nodding cordially.

“Have a good evening boys,” Preston said, smiling.

“Thank you ma’am, sir,” the two men replied. Ben was tall, dark skinned, and looked like a former wrestler. Ivan looked straight out from the 1950s Iron Curtain.

Wyatt followed Flynn and Preston to the single door on the floor, that led into a…

Holy shit into an apartment that cost more than his life was worth.

A grand piano sat by the massive floor to ceiling windows on the left, halfway between a large, mahogany decorated office area and an open plan kitchen. To the back right was a large doorway that led into what seemed to be a bedroom, and Wyatt glimpsed a bathroom with a huge claw-footed tub to the far right.

Um, wow, okay. He knew that people made bank working for the wrong side of the law but it was another thing altogether to see it laid out in front of him. This whole place oozed luxury.

More than that, though, it had… an air of comfortability. Like every single item in the place was carefully and precisely chosen, and had a purpose, a meaning. The dark muted colors were elegant but unlike some other fancy houses that Wyatt had glimpsed in his time—although none of them this intimately—it didn't actually seem designed to impress people. It looked, genuinely, like a house that people enjoyed living in and had designed with their own comfort in mind.

"I didn't realize mafia conducted business out of their homes, nowadays," he quipped. Hey, he wasn't going to stop being himself, even undercover. Being a groveling brown-noser wasn't going to get him anywhere with these two, he could tell that immediately.

"We're not your typical mafia," Preston replied, a warning note in her voice.

"Does that mean I can't ask for any favor on the day of your daughter's wedding?"

Preston bit her lip, evidently to hide an amused smile, and glanced over at her husband. Flynn looked very, very hard at the wall for a moment, like he was silently praying to God for patience. Then he walked over to the desk and pulled out a package wrapped in a brown paper bag. “We figured between your distrust of the law, your history, and your excellent military record, you would be just the man to fill a vacancy of ours,” Preston said.

“Our last runner got himself arrested,” Flynn said, handing the package to Wyatt. “But you seem far more… capable.”

Wyatt glanced over at Preston to see her eyeing him critically, like she was stripping through his layers and could see through to the very soul of him.

He took the package gingerly, not having to fake one ounce of his nervousness. This was it. If he said yes to this job, he said yes to the undercover operation, to God knew how many years of living a lie and watching his back and every word he said.

If he said no, then he walked away, went home, and returned to a life where he had no meaning, no purpose, no family, just the empty hole where his wife used to be.

Wyatt looked up and met Flynn’s intense gaze. “Where do you need me to go with this?”

Flynn gave him what seemed, for a moment, to be the ghost of a smile. “I thought you might agree.”

“I need details before I officially say yes.”

“Smart man,” Preston said. “You’d be going shorter routes to start, up through Canada. We’d like to get you on your old route if possible—depends. You might be more useful close to home. We’d send you out once a month, up to three times a month depending on how far you’re traveling, and if we can get you on multiple runs. Can’t have you going past the same border guards all the time, even if we do bribe some of them. You’ll start at the lower end of the totem pole, base pay, with opportunities for upward movement. Karl started out as a runner and now he’s our head lieutenant. Next in line, if someone guns us down.”

She said it so lightly, so matter of factly, that Wyatt nearly choked. How did these people live with death looking over their shoulder?

Of course, he’d done two tours, and was a cop, so maybe he wasn’t one to judge on that account.

And Preston had been born into this. She knew no other way.

“Sounds reasonable,” he said. “Do I get dental?”

Flynn snorted in laughter, looked shocked that he’d been amused, and then schooled his face into a stern expression. “We do have health insurance options yes. We’re not the United States government, we have common sense.”

Wyatt couldn’t help it—he gaped at him. “Is that—did you just make a joke?”

Flynn glared, like Wyatt had suggested that Flynn drowned puppies.

Preston looked back and forth between the two of them, amusement plain on her face. “Well… you’re entertaining, if nothing else. Let’s see if you can run your car as fast as you can run your mouth.”

Wyatt tucked the package under his arm. “When do I leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Preston pulled some papers out of a drawer and passed them to him. “Your destination, money for gas and food, any other information you need, and your new… let’s call it your company phone.” She winked at him and Wyatt’s stomach liquified.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Mmm, he does know his manners,” she said, looking back over her shoulder at her husband. Flynn’s mouth tightened oddly, his eyes darkening. Preston looked back at Wyatt. “Consider this your trial run. Get this right and you'll be our man, and we'll take good care of you.” She walked up to him. "Do me a favor, pretty boy." She put her mouth right by his ear. “Don’t fuck it up.”

She pulled back. “Off you go. I’m sure you need your sleep.”

“Yes ma’am. Sir.” Wyatt did a little head bob, felt incredibly stupid for it, and then left.

…well all right then. That was… terrifying and oddly surreal.

And nothing like what he’d imagined.

 

* * *

 

His run went off without a hitch, as he was happy to report to Denise. “It’ll be a while before you earn their trust,” she told him. “So stay patient. That’s how we win this thing—patience and playing by the rules we set down. I know you’re a bit fast and loose with those, Logan, so keep your head in the game and don’t let the game play you.”

Seemed simple enough.

He reported to Karl, not Preston and Flynn, about how his run went. Karl took a tally of everything, handed Wyatt his pay, and sent him on his merry way back to the garage where he went to work fixing up cars again like nothing had happened.

A couple weeks later, Preston showed up alone.

He was bent over under the engine of a car when he heard a woman softly say in his ear, “Boo.”

He jumped, banged his head on the hood, swore, and turned to see Lucy Preston standing in front of him once more.

She was wearing a white and gold dress straight out of the 1930s, but she managed to actually pull off the Old Hollywood look. Although he suspected the woman could wear a trash bag and she’d look amazing.

“Did I startle you?” she asked, an amused smirk on her face.

“I think you know you did, ma’am,” he replied, glancing around. It wasn’t late in the day and plenty of the other guys were around.

Preston didn’t seem to pay them any mind. “I heard your run went remarkably well. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Now you don’t have to mess up this pretty face,” Wyatt said, and then immediately mentally smacked himself for it. Flirting with the married boss, yeah, that was going to go over well, especially when the other boss was her psychopathic husband.

“Yes, I am rather glad for that.” Preston took a step closer to him, then reached up and rubbed her thumb across his cheek. “Oil,” she said by way of explanation.

Wyatt tried to speak but it was like someone had a hold of his throat and was strangling him. “I…”

“I think that I should talk to my husband about having you run close to home, don’t you?” she said. “I think I’ll like having you around often.” She picked up one of his hands. “Mmm, rough life, judging by these.”

“Not a rough life at all, judging by yours,” Wyatt countered before he could stop himself.

Preston laughed. “You are quick. I like it. You know none of our men will dare to speak to me that way? It gets so very boring after a while. They used to call me ‘princess’ back home, growing up. It’s exhausting.”

She gestured at the car. “Tell me, how are the modifications coming to the engine for this one?”

That threw him for a loop. “Ah, they’re—well, fitting an engine of that size into this car is going to mean we move around a lot of other parts too, ma’am, so I was thinking of putting the engine in the trunk and putting a door under the back passenger seats instead.” He opened the back door and pointed down to show her. “False bottom would be easy to detect but nobody checks for false sides.”

“Clever boy,” Preston said. “All right, go ahead with it. Flynn will be pleased.”

“You two… work well together, then?” Wyatt asked, trying to fish for details.

Preston smirked at him. “Wyatt Logan, are you asking me if I’m happy in my marriage?”

Wyatt could feel his face flushing. “I—no, ma’am, I just—I meant—small talk, that’s all—”

Preston put her hand on his cheek. “You’re not the first person to ask, and you won’t be the last. But lucky for you, I like you. And you got my husband to laugh, which is no easy feat. So this question you get answered free. Yes, we work well together. It was our business partnership that led us to get to know one another so well.”

“And any other questions?”

“Oh, you’ll need to pay a fee,” Preston assured him, her voice dipping down, going soft. Wyatt’s traitorous mind conjured up all the very sweaty, physically draining ways he could pay off that fee. “Tit for tat, Wyatt Logan. I ask you a question, you get to ask me one.”

“All right.”

She tilted her head, her hand dropping from his cheek. They were standing very close, Wyatt realized. Too close for a married woman to stand to a man. “Why did you say yes to our offer?”

“Because I need something to do,” Wyatt said, completely honestly. “After my wife died I—I don’t know what to do with my life, or myself, and this gives me something.”

“I am sorry,” Preston said quietly, her eyes sad. “I know what it is to lose someone you love and it’s… well.” Then she brightened. “And now your turn. What other questions do you have for me?”

“Why’d you leave your family? You were the heir.”

Preston flinched slightly. “They were… they tried to control me. Groom me. I couldn’t even breathe on my own. Then they hurt someone I loved. And I decided to get out. I won’t be controlled or imprisoned.” Her voice was deadly. “Not by anyone.”

“I’d like to see anyone try.”

She smiled. “Smart boy.”

“With all due respect, I’m not a boy, ma’am.”

“No, you’re not.” Preston flicked a bit of dirt off his chest. “But you like it when I call you that, don’t you?”

He did, to his own damn frustration, as his heated cheeks undoubtedly told her. “I… ma’am, you’re—”

Preston held up her left hand, wiggling her fingers, showing off the wedding ring. “I’m well aware. And trust me, Wyatt Logan, I don’t do anything my husband doesn’t want me to do. And vice versa.”

So they had an… open relationship?

Preston stepped back, and Wyatt felt like he could breathe again. “Stay good, and be on time for the monthly meeting. Jiya set up an account for you so you should get all the informational emails?”

“Yes ma’am. And Jansen gave me a tour.” Jansen was one of the senior runners, an easygoing guy with a paternal air that Wyatt, in spite of himself, had taken a liking to. Same with Jiya, the resident hacker and forger for the Preston-Flynn crew. She had a surprisingly sunny and yet no-nonsense disposition that Wyatt enjoyed.

“Glad to hear it.” Preston smiled at him, and Wyatt had the distinct sensation that she was imagining eating him alive.

He was also well aware that he wouldn’t have minded at all if she did.

“Have a good day, Wyatt Logan. And keep up the good work on the cars.”

Then she was gone, leaving just the faintest whiff of strawberries behind her.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt didn’t know what to expect at the monthly meeting.

It was the first one he was attending, since he’d been hired just a couple of days after the last one. According to Jansen, Flynn and Preston weren’t big on holding meetings and when they did have them, you better keep your mouth shut unless you had something really important to say.

“They hate them,” Jansen told him. “I think Karl’s the only one who likes them, he always gives these long-winded reports that put the rest of us to sleep.”

Wyatt could feel his stomach twisting as they entered the room. It was a sleek board room, comfy black chairs set up, with one at the head that Wyatt knew had to be for Flynn or Preston. He wasn’t sure which.

Everyone took a seat, apparently knowing where they belonged. Wyatt looked around, confused, and then Karl—who looked like he’d gotten up on the wrong side of the bed every day for a month—jerked his head towards the chair just to the right of the head.

“You’re there, newbie,” he said, not unkindly, just bored. “Flynn likes to keep a close eye on the new people.”

Wyatt sat down just as the doors opened and Flynn himself walked in.

Everyone sat up straight. Wyatt misunderstood and started to stand only to have Flynn crack a sardonic smile as a few others chuckled.

“You want to bow, too?” Flynn asked.

“Uh… no, I mean, sorry, sir.” Wyatt sat back down, feeling his face heat up.

Flynn sat down, nodding at Jiya, the Preston-Flynn resident hacker and forger. “Everyone’s papers are in order?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve had no pullovers at the border.”

“Excellent. Jansen, we’ll start with you, just give me a rundown.”

Wyatt could already feel his eyes glazing over. He’d always hated meetings. Dave would tease him mercilessly about them, and the time Denise had caught him playing solitaire under the table had been a blowup for the books.

Desperate for anything to distract himself, he noticed…

Huh, he could actually smell Flynn’s cologne from here.

He glanced over, trying not to be too obvious about it. Flynn looked as impeccable as the first time Wyatt had met him, wearing a black suit with a charcoal tie that had thin burgundy stripes running diagonally through it, a charcoal-and-burgundy pocket square in his breast pocket.

The suit fit him really well, actually…

“Logan?” Flynn asked, turning to look Wyatt dead in the eye.

An odd thrill of heat shot through him and Wyatt swallowed, his throat dry. Flynn’s gaze wasn’t any less intense the second time around. “Ah, everything—everything went well, sir. Got the goods delivered six hours ahead of schedule, kinda surprised the boys I think but once I showed my credentials they were all good. Came back, turned the return package over to Karl to be laundered, turned my passport into Jiya, clean run.”

“Excellent. That’s how all your runs should go. You informed Karl of the six-hour gap?”

“Yes, sir, clocked it like I was told, got a signed statement on the receipt from the boys I delivered to.”

“Good. Corroboration is always good,” Flynn added, raising his voice. “It means that we can believe you when you say you made a run in under time and deserve a bonus.”

“I like receipts,” Karl added.

Flynn rolled his eyes, but Wyatt got the distinct impression that there was platonic, perhaps even brotherly, affection behind the gesture. “Yes, which brings me neatly to Karl, why don’t you give us your overall report on runner operations?”

Wyatt held in his sigh as Karl launched into what was sure to be a very long and very dry speech on numbers. Flynn glanced at him, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement, and Wyatt felt himself blushing again. He was trying to impress Flynn, dammit, not make an idiot of himself by being bored.

He tried to listen to Karl, he really did, but dear God it was like the guy was trying to put them all to sleep. He ended up looking over at Flynn, instead. He looked a lot more relaxed than when Wyatt had last seen him, a sort of satisfied air about him.

Flynn fiddled with his cuff, clearly trying to do it while still listening to Karl’s report. Wyatt cleared his throat. “Sir?” he said quietly.

Flynn looked over at him.

Wyatt took the cuff and did it up, trying not to squirm under Flynn’s intense gaze. “Sorry,” he whispered.

Flynn stared at him for another moment, eyes boring into him—and then reached out his other wrist, eyebrows slightly raised.

Wyatt hesitated. Then he reached out to do the other cuff. As he looked down, he saw—red marks on Flynn’s wrists.

Like from a tie or rope, binding them.

Wyatt swallowed.

“Logan,” Flynn ordered, his voice a barely-audible rumble. “Eyes up here.”

Wyatt’s gaze snapped up to meet Flynn’s dark one. “Yes sir.” It felt like he couldn’t even breathe.

Flynn’s jaw ticked, but he held still until the cuff was done up and then pulled his hand away.

Wyatt hadn’t even touched Flynn’s skin, so he didn’t understand why his fingertips burned.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t expect to see Flynn or Preston every single day—that wasn’t how these places ran, any more than a secretary would expect to see the district manager—but it was another two months before he saw them outside of the monthly meetings and Preston didn’t even attend those. He tried to tell himself that undercover work took time, that he was liable to be in this thing for years, but he’d never been very good at patience. Jess used to laugh at him about that. “You’d never make it as a reporter,” she’d told him more than once.

Maybe this was why Denise had put him undercover. Some sadistic way to teach him to finally learn to wait a while for something.

But when he was summoned—by Karl, who aside from his rank as head lieutenant was clearly trusted the most since he was forever being sent by Preston and Flynn to fetch people and drive them places—he was brought not to the penthouse office-slash-apartment but to, of all places, to a tailor’s shop on West 57th.

Wyatt stepped inside after Karl helpfully dropped him off, feeling entirely out of his element. The place was discreet in design, with elegantly tailored suits hanging on a few mannequins for show, natural light pouring in from what felt like everywhere, mahogany shelves with rolls of fabric lining one of the walls, and massive mirrors for checking yourself out at apparently every angle.

Wyatt, in his jeans and soft gray long-sleeved shirt, definitely felt underdressed.

A man exited the backroom and paused upon seeing him. “Do you have an appointment?” he said, in the tone of one who knows that the customer does not, in fact, have an appointment.

“I’m here to see Flynn,” Wyatt replied.

The man relaxed. “Ah, yes, he mentioned one of his men would be stopping by. Please, follow me.”

Wyatt followed him through the showroom to the back, where he stopped dead and almost swallowed his tongue.

Flynn was standing very casually, hands loosely linked behind his back, letting the tailor take a measurement up his inseam.

Wyatt had a sudden, horrible flash of envy over the tailor and then an equally sudden and horrible flash of _I’m not as straight as I’d planned to be._

…oh God. This couldn’t be happening, this could _not_ be happening.

But that image of Flynn staring down at someone on their knees, looking casually imperious about it, was never going to leave his head.

“I see what you mean,” the tailor said, standing up. “We’ll have to choose a suitable fabric, something dark enough to hide the line in the fabric.”

“You know I have the utmost faith in you all. And if it’s asking too much…”

“We like a challenge, Mr. Flynn, don’t worry. Shall we try on the navy with the burgundy waistcoat?”

Wyatt had no fucking clue what ‘waistcoat’ even meant. He glanced at the couch to the side. Should he sit down or…?

“Honestly, Logan, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were a puppy in human form,” Flynn said, meeting Wyatt’s eyes in the mirror. “Sit down and try not to look like I’m going to shoot you. Which I wouldn’t, by the way, Andrew, that’s lovely upholstery.”

“Thank you, picked it out myself.” Andrew took up some pieces of fabric and exited.

Flynn then—to Wyatt’s horror—started unbuttoning his shirt. “You’ve done well as a runner for us. Three runs, all smooth, all several hours under time. I’m impressed, and I’m not a man easily given to being impressed.”

Wyatt tried very hard to concentrate on what Flynn was saying and not on the fact that Flynn was undressing down to just his undershirt. _Fuck_. Was this why he’d gotten that weird tug in his gut over Bobby Haswell in junior high? Shit.

Flynn set the button up shirt and jacket aside, then started oh _God_ why the fuck was this happening. Wyatt was being punished for something wasn’t he, Jess was somehow using this to punish him from beyond the grave because he’d always left the dishes in the sink, it was the only explanation for why Flynn was taking off his shoes and undoing his goddamn pants.

“I have a rather delicate meeting I have to go to out of town,” Flynn went on, talking like they were sitting and having a coffee instead of in a damn tailor’s shop while Flynn stripped down to his, wow, um, rather form-fitting briefs.

Wyatt’s mouth dried up in a spilt second. Flynn was. Um.

…he was six foot four and had large feet. To put it delicately.

“It’s only about an hour’s drive but I want a good getaway driver, just in case the worst happens. Always best to be prepared for the worst in this business.” Flynn looked over his shoulder at him. “Do you need some water or something?”

“I’m fine,” Wyatt managed. He tried very, very hard to look Flynn only in the eyes.

Andrew entered with a finished suit, which he hung on the hook in the wall. “No new scars, I see. Kevlar working out for you?”

“Excellently.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Flynn began getting dressed again in the new suit. The fabric was a dark navy blue, the jacket a little longer than usual, clearly meant for some kind of extra formal event. The—well it looked like a vest of some kind to Wyatt but apparently it was a ‘waistcoat’, of all the pretentious names—was burgundy, and somehow the cut of it drew Wyatt’s eyes down to…

Oh God Logan stop looking there _stop looking there_.

He snapped his eyes up to Flynn’s face, ignoring the way his mouth watered a little. “You want me to be your driver, sir?”

Flynn arched an eyebrow. “Yes. You’re good with a gun, or we wouldn’t have hired you, but how good are you as a bodyguard?”

Wyatt understood what he meant. Firing to protect yourself was one thing but keeping someone else safe at the same time was another ballgame. “Got in a couple firefights running moonshine back in the day, sir, always managed to get my boss out of there in one piece.”

Flynn nodded. “Then you’ll go with me. It’ll be the two of us meeting the buyer. Petrovs want to offer up a tentative contract.”

“Yes, sir.”

He had to be imagining how Flynn’s eyes darkened when he said ‘sir’. “Glad to hear it. Ah, thank you Andrew.” He turned to look at himself in the mirror.

Personally Wyatt thought Flynn could ask him to do anything in that suit and he’d say yes to it so. Chalk it up as a successful outfit?

“Darling when I said you needed to branch out in your colors, I didn’t mean choose the darkest shade of blue imaginable.”

Wyatt turned to see Preston standing in the doorway to the back room, one eyebrow delicately arched, dressed in a powder blue number that made Wyatt’s mouth go dry all over again.

This had to be the definition of screwed.

“I’m wearing the red with it,” Flynn replied.

“That doesn’t count, and you know it.” Preston walked over to him and then made a slow circle around her husband, her gaze hot as she dragged it up his frame. Wyatt had the distinct feeling that Flynn would be fucking her in that suit not long after this meeting concluded. Guess that meant they were at least sexually together—oh God which meant those marks on Flynn’s wrists…

“Wonderful work, Andrew, you truly outdo yourself.” Preston smiled over at Andrew, a bright, easy smile that made her suddenly look ten times younger and sweeter.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Preston looked over at Wyatt and smiled. “Ah, Mr. Logan.” She walked over to him and ran her hand through his hair, then cupped his chin. Oh God he was going to die, trying not to squirm from the heat building inside of him. He’d always had a thing for being bossed around by pretty women and Lucy Preston was nothing short of stunning. “You look tired, poor thing, don’t tell me Karl’s overworking you.”

“No, no ma’am.”

“Good. We like lots of energy and stamina.”

This was definitely going to be how he died.

Preston let go of him and looked over at her husband again. “He’ll be your driver?”

“Yes.”

Preston nodded. “Bring him back in one piece,” she told Wyatt. The _or don’t come back at all_ went unspoken.

That really shouldn’t be making his pants so tight.

“When’s the meeting, sir?”

Preston glanced over at Flynn, an amused gleam in her eye. “Two days,” Flynn replied. “Six p.m. because that’s sunset and mafia these days have seen too many Hollywood movies. I’ll give you directions as we go.”

“Yes, sir.”

Flynn’s gaze bore into his, unrelenting, completely in control. Wyatt had the inexplicable urge to start begging. Flynn seemed about to say something a couple times, then stopped himself, finally only saying shortly, “Good.”

He turned to speak to Andrew about the suit, while Preston went and sat right up next to Wyatt on the couch. She leaned in a little, putting her hand on Wyatt’s knee.

Fuck.

“He’s quite intense, I know,” she said in a low voice, her mouth disturbingly close to Wyatt’s ear for his sanity. “But he doesn’t bite. Well…” She gave a cat with the canary smile. “Not unless that’s what you’re into.”

It occurred to Wyatt, just then, that Preston might be flirting with him.

Flirting with him for both herself and her husband, going by that last comment.

“Ah… I’m sure,” Wyatt stumbled out.

Preston gave his knee a squeeze. “Be patient with him on the drive. He can be a handful. In his personality, too.” She stood up, trailing her fingers up his leg as she did so.

Wyatt tried to remember what breathing felt like.

Preston walked over to her husband and helped him take off his clothes as Andrew exited again to draw up some bill or other. “You do look unbearably handsome,” she told Flynn. She got up onto her tiptoes as Flynn obligingly ducked his head to allow her to run her fingers through his hair. “You don’t have to make it look so severe. It looks good a little… soft and floppy.”

Flynn lightly caught his wife’s wrists in his hands, bringing them down to kiss her knuckles. “I have to look professional.”

“Such a pity. I much prefer when you look as unprofessional as possible.” Her voice was the personification of sin and Wyatt had to desperately think of dead puppies to will his erection down.

Flynn kissed the inside of Preston’s wrist, his eyes dark and adoring as they gazed at her, and then he allowed her to help him back down to his underwear.

It was ten times worse now, with Preston running her hands all over Flynn’s chest and arms and back as she helped him. Wyatt wanted her hands on him like that, but he also wanted to be the one running his hands over Flynn. He wanted to get on his knees and push that skirt of hers up and bury his face between her thighs—and he wanted to open his mouth and have Flynn feed him his cock until his jaw ached.

Jesus Christ his imagination sure was filthy once it was given an inch of leeway.

Once Flynn was back in yet a third suit Wyatt hadn’t seen, this one a double-button dark blue pinstripe with a patterned burgundy tie.

…Wyatt was starting to notice a pattern and could see why Preston was advocating more colors.

“You’ll report to the apartment at four,” Flynn said. “Ben and Ivan will know to let you in. Dress appropriately.”

“Yes, sir. Ma’am.”

Flynn held out his arm, which Preston took with a soft smile up at him. “We’ll see you soon,” she told Wyatt, her gaze flicking up and down him. “Keep that pretty face out of trouble.”

They walked out, looking like the hottest goddamn couple in the city and leaving Wyatt to admit two very disturbing things:

  1. He was not straight in the slightest, and
  2. He was rock hard for his very criminal, very powerful, very off-limits undercover marks.



_Fuck_.

 

* * *

 

Flynn could still remember the first time he’d laid eyes on Lucy Preston.

He’d been a decent guy, once upon a time. Law abiding. Struggling to find work after he and Lorena decided to move to the states to give Iris a better chance in life. He’d been in the army, had worked with some powerful people back in the day, and a friend had asked him to take on some freelance work. Good pay, look into the Rittenhouse family for him, follow the paper trial and see if Flynn as a free agent could dig up what the feds with their red tape couldn’t.

Rittenhouse had retaliated by murdering Lorena and Iris in their beds and doing their damndest to murder him while they were at it.

Flynn had known exactly what to do.

He’d gone straight to the Petrovs and offered his services.

It was a deal with the devil and he was well aware of it but at that point, his soul was a small price to pay for revenge against Rittenhouse. He’d fought his way up their ranks with aggression, ambition, and blood, and he’d led more raids against Rittenhouse than any of his predecessors. He’d reclaimed so much territory from the Rittenhouse family that there’d been a price on his head.

That was what he thought Lucy Preston was doing when she walked into his hideout, which had been at the back of a Brazilian restaurant at the time. Yes, the mafia still used restaurants as fronts for their businesses.

Fun fact: the food was usually amazing.

It was bold of her, he had to give her that, just walking in not knowing if she’d be shot on the spot just for her family name.

But that’s exactly what she’d done, walked right through the restaurant to his office and sat in his chair and when he’d drawn his gun she’d said, “Relax.”

“Give me a good reason why.”

She’d passed him a journal. “All the information I’ve put in there, for starters. Details on shipments and deliveries. It’s what I could get a hold of before I left.”

“Left?”

“I’m getting out, and I’m taking my family down with me. And I need your help for that. Or do you not really have a vendetta against them and you just attack them without mercy for shits and giggles?”

Flynn was pretty sure he’d fallen in love with her on the spot.

Not that she needed to know that.

“And why on earth would ‘Princess’ Lucy Preston need help from a guy like me? Or betray her family?”

Lucy’s eyes had flashed. “They aren’t my family. They don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“And how do I know this is all true? That you aren’t some… honeypot, to set me up?”

“Hold me as collateral, to see if my information is good.”

Flynn had mused on that. Pretty risky, as a Rittenhouse scheme, and bolder than they usually were. Nicholas was slipping, if you asked Flynn. “Fine. You’ll be my guest for the next few weeks.”

“Charming,” Lucy had snapped in return. “I’m sure you’ll be the perfect host.”

Needless to say, Karl’s face when he’d learned that Flynn had semi-kidnapped Lucy Preston had been priceless.

Of course, like many of Flynn’s ideas when it came to people he found attractive, it went better in theory than in execution. Keeping Lucy Preston as a prisoner in his apartment so he could ransom her back to her family if she was, indeed, a spy? Great in theory.

In execution, however, that meant things like Lucy crawling into his bed and declaring it ‘very comfy’, Lucy wrapped in a towel from the shower and berating him for being a first-class pompous stuck-up pea-brained nitwit, Lucy sleepily brushing her teeth in comfy flannel pajamas, Lucy humming along to songs on the radio, Lucy smiling at him softly when he made her coffee in the mornings.

The thing was… Flynn had only ever fallen in love with two people in his life. The first, his childhood best friend, he hadn’t been smart enough to figure out he was in love with in time. He’d chalked up their sexual encounters as just boys being boys, experimenting, practicing with each other.

Then the war had happened, and Josip had been gunned down right in front of him. Flynn had held him as he’d died, told him it would be all right, even as Josip had whispered in horror and fear that he couldn’t feel his legs, why couldn’t he feel his legs?

Only after Josip had stopped breathing had he had the sense to realize, to whisper in broken words that he loved him, he loved him, he _loved_ him, stay, please, please stay.

And then—Lorena, an architecture student in Split on a summer program, and boy had he made a mess of things until she’d figured it out and asked him officially out for coffee and told him, “you know this is a date, right?”

He’d choked for a second, and then decided that he wasn’t going to waste any time, not like before, and had blurted out that he thought she was perfection.

Lorena, thank God, had decided it was cute.

Then he’d lost her too, and he hadn’t even gotten to hold her.

Point was, his track record with falling for people, and managing to hold onto them, wasn’t so great. And so then when he’d realized—at last—that he loved Lucy, loved her fiercely and completely and devotedly…

He’d known that she needed to get far, far away from him.

Because the people he loved, they always died.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt nodded at Ben and Ivan as he walked up to the door of the apartment. “Gentlemen,” he said, which got him a glare from Ivan.

Ben opened the door to let Wyatt in, where he promptly stumbled over his own feet trying to stop himself from entering any further.

Flynn was standing with his back to the door, delicately brushing some of the hair from Preston’s face. Her dark eyes searched Flynn’s, her expression, for once, vulnerable. They were standing so close to one another they might as well have been chest to chest, and Flynn was murmuring quietly. Wyatt couldn’t catch the words but he sure could catch the tone, and his stomach did an odd flip as he realized that he’d walked in on an incredibly intimate moment.

Neither one of the couple noticed him, completely caught up in each other. Flynn brushed a finger across Preston’s lips and she smiled up at him. She tilted her face up, teasing, silently and quite obviously asking for a kiss. Wyatt heard Flynn chuckle and then he obliged her, kissing her with such an aching tenderness that it hurt Wyatt’s heart to watch.

As Flynn pulled away Wyatt cleared his throat, figuring it was time to let them know he was there. Both turned to look at him.

“Ready to go when you are, sir,” Wyatt said, trying to sound less awkward than he felt and knowing he was probably failing.

He’d known from the moment he met them that Preston and Flynn were a seamless team. They worked well together, and Flynn was more than happy to play second fiddle to Preston’s behind the scenes planning. And then he’d seen that, well, it was pretty clear they slept together. Flynn’s marks on his wrists, the ones Wyatt couldn’t stop thinking about, those could’ve come from anyone—but the way they’d been together in that tailor’s shop…

Yeah, they were sexually together, all right.

But this—this was something entirely different. They’d been holding back that first meeting, Wyatt realized. Acting completely professional since they didn’t know him. But these two weren’t just in love. They were dizzyingly, hopelessly, terrifyingly in love.

Wyatt found himself, oddly enough, envious.

He’d loved Jess. And she’d loved him. But they’d loved each other in an everyday, comfortable kind of way. Jess was his best friend and his high school sweetheart. He could freely admit that as much as he missed her, as much as he would’ve happily spent the rest of his life with her, he didn’t love her the way that he now saw Preston and Flynn loved each other.

In fact he didn’t think he knew anyone who looked at their partner the way he was seeing Preston and Flynn were looking at each other just now.

Selfishly, he wanted a part of that love, if only to know what it felt like. To have someone looking at him with the sheer and unashamed worship that Flynn was looking at his wife, and the absolute, indulging, wondering affection that Preston had in her eyes when she gazed back.

“Good,” Flynn said, his fingers instinctively intertwining with Preston’s as she took his hand, even as he continued to look at Wyatt. His gaze trailed over Wyatt’s body, making Wyatt feel hot all over. “I don’t suppose you have any suits that aren’t off the rack.”

“These suit me—ah, pun not intended—just fine, sir.”

Preston kissed her husband’s knuckles, her gaze on Wyatt. “You’d look pretty in green,” she remarked. “It would bring out your eyes.”

Wyatt swallowed. “If you say so, ma’am.”

Flynn squeezed Preston’s hand and then walked away, grabbing a briefcase. “Lead on, Macduff.”

Wyatt nodded and turned to go, only for Preston to clear her throat. “Garcia, you have…” she pointed at her lips.

Flynn’s eyes danced with mirth and he went into the bathroom to wipe the lipstick off his face. The moment he did, Preston walked up to Wyatt and—

 _Fuck_ , where had she even been hiding that knife? Wyatt grabbed her wrist on instinct as he felt the small blade—oh it had been in her hair, he could see the gold hairclip that had been in it was now gone—press against his throat. Preston was quick as a snake, much quicker than he’d given her credit for.

He had the swift and sudden intuition that he wasn’t the first person to underestimate her in that regard.

“I like you, Mr. Wyatt Logan,” she said quietly, sweetly, sweet as the smile she’d given Andrew the tailor. “I like you very, very much. Most of the time boys like you bore me, frankly, but I think there’s a bit of hidden depth to you. I’d have quite a lot of fun bringing that out.”

The knife pressed harder. “But you hold my heart in your hands right now, Mr. Logan. Make no mistake. Your life is less than worthless without his safety. All of this goes well, we celebrate… have a nightcap…” She leaned in, her mouth brushing against his. “Perhaps a little something else…”

Her hand reached up and gripped his hair tight enough to make him stifle a grunt of pain as she tipped it back, exposing more of his throat. “I don’t think you want to know the outcome if he doesn’t make it back.”

As swiftly as she’d put the blade to his throat it was gone, and Lucy was stepping away and sliding the hairclip back into her hair just as Flynn walked back out. “Am I presentable now?” he asked.

“You’re never presentable,” Preston replied, her voice somehow factual and sensual at the same time. Her tone made it clear that this was far from a bad thing and probably, definitely, an innuendo.

Flynn glanced over at Wyatt. “Did you threaten to shoot him?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, I told him to call me Lucy, since we’re getting to know each other.” Lucy smiled at Wyatt, completely guileless in her expression.

Wyatt realized then that there was a reason she was the one calling the shots. Flynn couldn’t hide his emotions to save his life. But Lucy… did anyone really know what she was thinking if she didn’t let them?

It was terrifying and, annoyingly, hugely attractive at the same time.

Flynn gestured towards the door. “Shall we?”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded at Lucy. “Ma’am.”

Lucy tilted her head slightly, smiling. “Have a good trip, boys.”

Wyatt followed Flynn out the door, still feeling the press of the blade against his jugular.

 

* * *

 

Flynn sat in the front passenger seat, although he had to push it all the way to the back to leave enough room for his legs.

Wyatt tried very hard not to think about that as he drove.

Flynn murmured instructions now and again as they drove out of the city. There were more than enough hidey-holes in NYC, hell, just in Manhattan alone, and he didn’t like this whole going outside their territory thing.

Jesus, ‘their territory’? Only six months into this and he was already thinking like one of them.

Flynn’s fingers drummed lightly against his thigh as he read some paperwork. It looked like a contract but had red pen marks all over it. Flynn read one of the pen marks and smiled, snorting quietly in amusement.

Wyatt glanced over. “You had a teacher mark that up?”

“Lucy,” Flynn replied. His hand came up, gently taking the back of Wyatt’s head and turning it so that he looked ahead at the road again. “She’s made some suggestions to the contract for dealing with these people.”

His hand fell to Wyatt’s shoulder. “You’re tense, Logan.”

Wyatt swallowed. “Yeah, well, that’s what you get when your wife threatens me with a knife.”

“Oh, did she now?” Flynn looked nothing short of proud. “That little minx.”

“She made it clear I need to come back with you in one piece.”

“Well, I’m sure you can manage that.” Flynn’s hand was still on his goddamn shoulder and Wyatt really hated the way his stomach fluttered and heat started building up his spine the longer it rested there. “You’ve proven yourself rather capable so far.”

Wyatt wanted to inform Flynn that Lucy had also propositioned him, or as good as, but he wasn’t sure how Flynn would take that. “She’s hard to pin down.”

“She’s made herself that way. Once upon a time, everything was written on her face.” Flynn paused, staring out the window. “She’s the most compassionate woman I ever met. Once she was the most innocent. That’s what makes her so dangerous.”

“How?”

“Who’s deadlier?” Flynn looked back at him. “The person born to violence, or the one that had their innocence ripped away and learned—learned the hard, brutal way—just what violence is?”

Wyatt couldn’t meet Flynn’s eyes and he looked back at the road.

“For a mafia man,” Flynn murmured, “you spook rather easily.” His fingertips brushed the side of Wyatt’s neck.

“Maybe it’s just you,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Flynn grinned wolfishly. “I feel special.”

“Hardy har har.”

“You’re refreshingly honest.” Flynn finally dropped his hand from Wyatt’s shoulder and Wyatt felt like he was suddenly lightheaded, breathing too rapidly.

“Is that an insult?”

“It’s an observation. Play your cards right and it might even be a compliment.”

“A compliment? From Garcia Flynn?” Wyatt dared to let a smirk slide onto his face as he glanced over at Flynn. “Sure that’s not going to start the apocalypse?”

“You know I could cut a finger off for that cheek.”

“But you won’t.” Wyatt grinned at him. “You picked me to do this job, and it’s just the two of us. You like me enough to sit in the car with me for an hour if nothing else.”

“Mmm, maybe I just wanted to kill you with no witnesses around.”

“You could’ve picked a better location.”

“I wasn’t aware murder victims got to pick scenic locations for their execution.”

“I mean it’s the least you can do, right? Take me out on the town, buy me a drink and a lap dance, let me enjoy my last night alive?”

“Is that what you do on Friday nights? Drinking and strip clubs? I expected better of you, Logan.”

“Usually I’m at home failing to cook dinner and watching football, but let’s pretend I actually have a social life, I want you to think I’m cool.”

“Trust me, I have never thought that.”

“And there go all my plans to impress you.”

“You were trying to impress me? I missed that memo.”

Wyatt realized he had been smiling and glancing over at Flynn constantly like a complete lovestruck idiot and focused back on the road, trying to get his stupid face to calm down.

“Seriously, Logan.” Flynn’s voice was a little rough. “You’re guileless. That’s a good thing for me as your boss. It’s a bad thing for you. Everything you feel is on your face.”

“Everything?” Even—dear God he hoped not—his stupid and embarrassing crush on his bosses?

Flynn paused, his tongue flicking out across his bottom lip as if he was about to say something, but then he swallowed and looked away.

“Lucy’s emotion was almost her downfall,” he said quietly after another moment of silence. “Don’t let it be yours.”

“I like to think of my emotion as my strength. I’ve been told I have a good gut feeling.”

“Normally I’d say that’s a good thing. But not in our world. People will take what you care about and use it against you.”

“Would you?” Wyatt asked, looking at him. “Take what I care about and use it against me?”

“No. You’re safe with me.”

His heart gave a weird sort of tremble at that. He knew that the word of a mob boss, especially one rumored to be as dangerous as Garcia Flynn, was probably not worth shit.

And yet, Wyatt believed him.

Flynn placed a hand on his wrist. “Turn right,” he said. “We’re here.”

Wyatt turned into the entrance to a car junkyard. “I don’t like this. Too many places for people to hide.”

Flynn’s hand was still on him, his thumb swiping back and forth along Wyatt’s inner wrist almost as if he’d forgotten he was actually touching him. “If we don’t make this meeting, it’ll be a show of bad faith.”

“And you’ve got your own bosses to report to.”

Flynn glanced at him. “Careful, Logan.”

“What? I thought you liked me.” He gave Flynn a winning smile.

Flynn’s mouth snapped shut and he glared at Wyatt. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Hey. I didn’t need a knife at my throat to make me want to protect you. It’s a point of pride that nobody dies on my watch. You go down I go down too. We can back out of this.”

Flynn shook his head. “That’s the thing, Logan. You don’t back out of anything in this business. Lesson number one.”

He got out of the car, and Wyatt couldn’t help but felt that was an apt statement about his entire damn mission.

The buyer came out from around one of the old cars. “Garcia Flynn, in the flesh. I wondered…”

“The Petrovs said you insisted on dealing with a higher rank, so they sent me.”

“Kind of them.” The guy’s eyes darted to a spot over Wyatt’s left shoulder. “You have the goods?”

His eyes did that thing again. Almost as if he was looking towards…

Wyatt tried to glance around without moving his body. Too many cars to hide behind, far too many, and this guy had that overly nonchalant air that people got when trying to seem casual to hide a lie…

He grabbed Flynn, pulling his gun. “Get down!”

And he fired at the guy.

The man went down, staring at the gaping bloody hole in his chest, and for a second Wyatt thought he’d guessed wrong, that he’d messed all this up, that he’d—

Then the ground exploded beneath their feet and a bullet zinged right over Flynn’s head.

“The fuck!” Flynn snarled, pulling his own gun and firing back.

“Flynn, get in the car!” Wyatt guided him in, a feat easier said than done since Flynn kept trying to fire back.

“Emma!” Flynn yelled, apparently seeing her. Fuck goddammit. “You cold hearted piece of—” He descended into Croatian at that point.

“Flynn! Get in the fucking car!” Wyatt yelled, firing—Jesus how many snipers had Emma brought?

He yanked open Flynn’s car door and shoved him inside and then dove for his own seat, not even bothering with his goddamn seatbelt.

Flynn slid into the seat and Wyatt slammed his foot onto the pedal, throwing the car into reverse. “Stay down!” he ordered, jerking the wheel back and forth to make the car swerve, making it harder for the Rittenhouse team to hit them. He spun the wheel to make the car spin and then shifted it into drive and careened out of there.

“You hit?” he asked, breathing hard and fast, his chest heaving. He hadn’t been in a car chase since he was seventeen, and a part of him was kind of exhilarated.

“I’m okay,” Flynn grunted, getting up in the seat. “Get us out of here, don’t take us home.”

“Yes, sir.” Wyatt glanced in the rearview mirror. “We’ve got two tails.”

“Can you lose them?”

Wyatt grinned, unable to stop himself. “Can I lose them.” Fuck yeah he could.

He took a sharp turn down his first left, aiming to head for the first populated area, getting them out of this goddamn warehouse and no man’s land. Behind him he could see the other two cars—all black because why not be cliché—managing to keep up for now.

Flynn yanked out a cellphone and dialed a number, pressing the phone to his ear. “ _Moja draga_ , tell Ben and Ivan to lock down. Emma was at the meeting. Get the gun out, don’t let anyone in. Call Karl and tell him we’ve got a code orange.” Flynn paused as Lucy—judging from what Wyatt could hear—yelled at him spectacularly. Wyatt could see him swallow like there was a nail stuck in his throat. “ _Volim te_ ,” he said, apparently in response to Lucy.

He hung up the phone, his face tight. “Drive,” he ordered.

Wyatt tightened his grip on the steering wheel and took a deep breath. Okay. He could do this.

He spun the car around to face their pursuers, lowering the car window and firing out the side at their tires. He saw that he hit one, then yanked on the steering wheel, veering the car to the right and heading down a narrow alley, then going left. Keep swerving, keep turning, don’t let them get you on a straightaway.

He turned again, left, putting himself in a square. He’d seen a warehouse with an open door…

There!

He’d basically done an elaborate U-turn, but it put him behind his pursuers instead of the other way around and gave him those extra few seconds to whip the car into the warehouse and around the corner, narrowly avoiding what looked like a shit ton of paint cans and ensconcing them in the dark. He cut the car’s engines and lights, leaving them in silence.

Just a few seconds later, he heard the two cars whizz by, right past the open door, not seeing them in the dark.

They were home free.

Wyatt let out a whoop, punching the air. “ _That’s_ how it’s done!”

Flynn pushed a hand through his hair. “Are you always so calm and collected?” he asked, but there was a grin flickering at the corner of his mouth.

Wyatt sank back into his seat, grinning at him. “C’mon, Flynn, c’mon, that was some grade A driving there.”

“Seeing as we’re alive I can say it was acceptable.” Flynn’s words were sarcastic but his eyes were dark and intense, crinkling up at the corners, and Wyatt had the sudden thought that if this was a movie, this would be where he swung a leg over into Flynn’s lap and Flynn would slide his hands up Wyatt’s side and Wyatt would grind down as their mouths met and—

“Logan.” Flynn’s voice was sharp. “Did you get hit?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why are you zoning out?”

Wyatt swallowed. “Sorry, sir.”

Flynn sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. “What you did was impetuous, it was impatient, it was hotheaded and it could have backfired and gotten us both killed.”

Wyatt’s elated, floating feeling faded and a horrible, twisted sick feeling replaced it. “I’m not apologizing for following my gut.”

“That was a huge risk. Normally if any of my subordinates acted on their own like that, I’d make an example of them.”

Flynn reached over, getting his hand around the back of Wyatt’s neck, gripping firmly but not enough to hurt. This drew their faces together, only a few inches apart. “You saved my life. And it’s refreshing to have someone who thinks for himself, even if we could tone down that temper a bit.”

“Sort of part of the package,” Wyatt replied, surprised at how low his own voice was.

Flynn’s gaze roamed over his face before flicking down to Wyatt’s mouth, and Wyatt could feel heat spiking inside of him—

And then Flynn abruptly pulled away, his hand dropping from Wyatt’s neck like he’d been burned. “We need to get back,” he said gruffly. “Karl’s probably wringing his hands and Lucy will have my head for hanging up on her like that.”

Wyatt wondered what the hell had just happened, but he’d pushed his luck enough today as it was. “Yes Flynn. Sir.”

He turned to face front again, starting the car up and pulling out slowly. He didn’t think those bastards were circling back, but the home stretch wasn’t the time to get cocky.

Flynn was silent for the rest of the drive, and he didn’t even look at Wyatt once.

 

* * *

 

They got in late, taking a bit of a detour just to be extra safe. Ben and Ivan spun around the moment the elevator door opened, guns at the ready, but they stood down once they saw who it was.

“Boss.” Ivan nodded. “Glad to see you in one piece.”

“Same,” Ben added.

“At ease, gentlemen. One of you get a hold of Karl, tell him back to code yellow. If all stays quiet we’ll go code green in the morning.” Wyatt guessed that meant Flynn didn’t think a full-scale Rittenhouse assault was planned for that night.

“Why separate you two and then not go after both of you?” he asked as they walked up to the front door of the apartment, Flynn getting out his keys. “Why just a team for you?”

“Emma and Lucy share a mutual… enmity, let’s put it that way.” Flynn punched in the security code in the wall panel. “She wasn’t aiming to take our whole arm of the Petrov operation down. It was personal.”

The panel switched to green and Flynn gripped the handle. “Her goal was to hit Lucy where it hurt.”

Before Flynn could open the door himself, Wyatt heard someone grabbing it from the other side, and he dropped into a defensive stance instinctively.

Lucy opened the door in a silk nightgown, a gun pointed right at them. Wyatt noted that the safety was off and her finger was pressed firmly against the trigger, ready to squeeze at a moment’s notice.

Then she registered it was them, and a sob of relief escaped her.

“ _Garcia_.” She set the gun aside and threw herself at him, scattering kisses all over his face, her hands sliding over his body, checking for wounds. “I heard—did you get him, did you get the bastard—”

“Shh, _moja draga žena_ , it’s all right. Wyatt smelled the rat out, got me here.”

Lucy kissed Flynn with reckless passion, and Wyatt thought he knew what their first few nights together must have looked like, high on each other and their need. Then she crossed over to him and pulled him into her arms, squeezing tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for my life.”

He tentatively wrapped his arms around her as well, squeezing a little when Lucy showed no sign of letting go right away.

She pulled back a moment later, her hands gently framing his face. “We’ve truly been blessed to land a loyal man like you.”

Guilt, swift as a gut punch, stole into his bones. “It was nothing, ma’am. I’d do it again.”

Lucy kissed him on the forehead, then walked over to the bed, sitting down and taking in a deep breath—clearly needing a moment as her adrenaline wore down. A couple of tears slid free and she looked up at Flynn, the sheer adoration on her face taking Wyatt’s breath away. Everyone knew how much Flynn loved Lucy Preston. It was a love you underestimated at your own risk. But he’d never known until this moment how deeply the devotion went both ways.

 _Thank you for my life_ , she’d said.

“I’d have died, if it weren’t for you,” Flynn said, taking a step closer. “That’s nothing to sweep under the rug, Logan. We don’t do false modesty around here.”

Wyatt glanced over at Lucy. She was still looking at Flynn, her eyes shining, the tears on her face not quite dried. “I—it’s not false modesty. Sir. It’s my job.”

“Your job is to run the goods,” Lucy said. She took Flynn’s hand and kissed the knuckles, and Wyatt could see her hands were trembling slightly. She looked over at Wyatt. “You’re not one of our bodyguards. You weren’t just ‘doing your job’ and such loyalty should be recognized.”

“Yeah, well.” Wyatt could feel his face heating up and he looked down at the ground. “Who else am I gonna call ‘sir’ if you kick the bucket, huh?”

Flynn snorted softly and then walked over. His hand hovered in the air just long enough for Wyatt to wonder what Flynn planned to do with it, and then he rested it on Wyatt’s shoulder.

“We’ll remember this, Wyatt.” Wyatt jumped a little at the use of his first name, swallowing as his body warmed all over. Flynn gaze searched his. “You must be exhausted. Go on and get some sleep.”

Wyatt didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to leave Flynn, or Lucy. But an order was an order.

Flynn tipped his head forward, resting their foreheads together, and breathed with him for a moment, squeezing Wyatt’s shoulder. Then he pulled back and walked back over to Lucy, who opened her arms for him.

Wyatt swallowed, wishing he could stay, turning and walking out the door before he could do something stupid like beg them to let him.

 

* * *

 

Flynn sank down on the bed after Wyatt left and Lucy didn’t waste a second in climbing onto his lap, straddling him and pulling him into her, her hands in his hair, her breathing shaky as she held him tightly. Flynn kissed the space between her breasts, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, just under the bolt of her jaw. “I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m all right.”

“That bastard should thank the stars he’s dead,” Lucy snapped, fire raging up in her chest. She liked to think that she had not been born a violent woman, despite her heritage, her family history. But she had come to know violence. Whether it was good or not, that was for someone else to decide. And she would use whatever violence was necessary to protect Garcia, or to, if need be, avenge him.

Although she prayed it would never come to that.

Flynn pulled her down so that she sat back on her heels a little, putting them eye to eye, their foreheads resting together. “Just like old times, eh?” he pointed out.

Lucy snorted. “They never became old times. It never ends.”

Flynn sighed, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Oh, God, she loved him utterly, more than her own self. He’d been her anchor, her port in the storm for so long, sometimes she didn’t know where she ended and he began. “You and I both know there’s no point in dwelling on what might have gone wrong. It was all right.”

“You’re all I have,” she whispered. “I—I hate saying that. I used to have friends, I used to want to—to go to college, I had a sister, I want—I want to have neighbors I talk to and coworkers I get lunch with and friends I go out to drink wine with but I don’t have any of that, Garcia, I only have you and I know that might be wrong but it’s all I’ve got and I can’t lose you, I’ll—I won’t be myself if I lose you.”

Flynn ran his hands through her hair, a gesture he knew soothed her. “I would promise you the world on a platter if you wanted it, you know that, _moja draga_ , and I wish I could promise you I’ll stay safe. But then you’d have to promise me you’d stay safe and we both know that in this life…”

She squeezed her eyes shut but tears still leaked out. “I’m so tired. I’m scared and I’m so tired of being scared.”

“We’ll find out way out of this,” Flynn replied. “I promised you that, didn’t I? Wasn’t that what I told you?”

He gently took her chin in his hand and lifted her face up so they locked eyes. “Lucy. When I asked you to marry me, I promised you I would give you the life you always wanted. I promised you I’d give you the freedom you deserved. And I meant that. We’re not finished yet. The game is far from over. And I will make good on that promise.”

She kissed him, her heart swelling. “I love you,” she choked out. “Sometimes I—I see you look at me like this and I hear you say these things and I don’t know if I—Garcia please if I don’t deserve that kind of loyalty then don’t give it to me, please.”

He kissed her back, on the mouth, on the neck, on the cheek, all over, until he was getting his hands on her back and pushing her up so he could kiss his way down her body. “You… are worth… everything,” he swore in between the hot presses of his mouth.

Flynn picked her up and turned, setting her down on the bed, his hands and mouth all over and she could only cling back against the onslaught, feeling loved, loved, loved almost to a point behind her comprehension. She yanked him up to her, tugging at his clothes, too impatient to get him fully undressed and settling for tugging his shirt up and then undoing his pants.

“On top,” she ordered, not giving a single fuck about the foot of height difference. “Fuck me, Garcia, _volim te_ , I love you, please.”

She didn’t know enough Croatian to have a conversation, but she knew swears, a few random words, and more importantly, endearments. She tried to save them, not overuse them, both because of the gravity and because of Flynn’s reaction. But God, she needed him to know, she needed him to remember, because he said he did but did he really, could he feel it in her heart, in the way she breathed, just how necessary he was to her?

Flynn tried to pull away—he had a particular fondness for getting his tongue between her legs—but she refused to have him that far away from her tonight, even if only for a few minutes, and clung to him, kissing him until he gave up and slid his hand between her legs instead.

“I’m good,” she hissed, feeling impatient and wanting that burn. “I’m good, Garcia, come on, you know how I like it.”

He groaned, and then she cried out as he entered her, stretching her wide.

“Someday—I’m going to hurt you.”

“Never.” She clawed at his back, feeling the rough fabric of his pants catching on her legs. Her nightgown wasn’t even off, just pushed up until Flynn could bite and suck at her breasts, and she gave no fucks whatsoever.

Flynn fucked her roughly, without pause, his weight pressing her down into the mattress and his mouth biting bruises into her skin until she screamed out his name, grabbing his ass and holding him inside her, feeling him filling her.

Flynn, always a gentleman at least in his own cranky way, tried to pull away, to take his weight off her and probably also to get a washcloth from the bathroom, but she wouldn’t let him. He settled his head on her breasts, holding her as much as she was holding him.

“I never want to leave this room,” she whispered.

“I know.” Flynn turned and kissed her heated skin. “I know.”

She did, eventually, have to get up and pee and they cleaned themselves off, Flynn changing into pajamas. Lucy crawled right back into his arms as they got into bed, this time using him for her pillow.

Thank God Wyatt had been there tonight. She had half considered asking him to stay, but she wasn’t sure that Flynn had admitted to himself how he felt. Her husband was a contrary man, always refusing to give himself what he wanted. Winning him over had been a mixture of patience and sheer bullheadedness, ignoring all the distance he tried to put between them in a ridiculous attempt to protect her.

But she’d seen him gazing at Wyatt for a good six months now. And she’d seen Wyatt looking back, at both her and Flynn. She had plenty of the men they employed looking at her. She was never able to fully ignore it but she’d grown accustomed to it, an irritation she could dismiss. But Wyatt, he looked at both of them.

“It might be wise,” she thought, “to have someone else for these things.”

“For what?”

“You and I are both… rather intense, Garcia. Maybe someone who is more… soft, than we are. Someone we can have fun with.”

“Lucy, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

She looked up at him. “You can’t think I haven’t noticed you staring at Wyatt.”

“Logan is… a capable man. He’s become our best runner. Of course I notice him.”

“You look at him like you’re a velociraptor and he’s a helpless chicken.”

“Lucy.”

“Garcia.”

Flynn sighed, idly brushing his fingers up and down her shoulder. “Even if I… how would that even work? I love you.”

“And yet you wanted him to stay tonight, didn’t you?” She sat up. “If it was just a matter of… of lust, I would have asked that we remove him long ago. To have a moment of attraction to someone, that’s nothing. It could never touch my commitment to you. But you have to admit that this is—it won’t stop and it’s not just sex. I trust him, Garcia. He saved you, he saved the most important thing in the world to me, and the look on his face, I don’t know if you see how he looks at you.”

“And how does he look at me?”

She smiled softly. “The way I imagine I do. Like you hung the moon.”

“So you’re suggesting… that he has feelings for us. And that we have feelings for him. And that we should act on them. This is hardly conventional.”

“When have we been conventional about anything? If nothing else, it’s a little bit of fun, isn’t it? He’s practically begging to be held down and fucked, and don’t tell me you don’t feel something when he calls you ‘sir’.”

Flynn snorted, but his smile gave him away. “So, what, we ask if he wants to have a little ménage à trois?”

“I suggest we sleep with him. And then we ask him if he’d like to do it on a regular basis. We can trust him, we’ll be safe with him, and it’s another gun in the bed just in case, it’s another person we can let in because you have to admit, it only being us… it’s exhausting.”

“The others won’t like the favoritism.”

“To hell with the others. I’m a woman who wants another person she and her husband can trust and wants another person we can bring in and help make us forget the hell we have to deal with every day. Garcia, you want this. Stop making excuses.”

“I love you,” Flynn said. “Lucy—nothing will ever change that. If you think—if you think that you’re not enough for me—”

“No, no my darling, never.” Flynn’s devotion was the only thing she never doubted. “But surely… we still have enough love in our hearts to extend some to him? Hmm? It doesn’t have to be anything more than fun if we don’t want it to be.”

“You know I don’t… I… casual isn’t my thing, Lucy. It never has been.”

“I know. These are… murky waters. But I think we should stop denying what we want and see what happens. We get so little of what we want. Can’t we take this little bit, this one thing?”

Flynn thought about it for a long moment, then nodded. “All right.”

“Don’t worry,” she told him, kissing him. “I’ll take care of everything.”

 

* * *

 

Wyatt didn’t know how he knew, but someone was in his apartment.

He started, eyes flying open, reaching instinctively for the gun under his pillow. What the fu—

“Shh,” Flynn said, his voice quiet and soothing. “It’s all right, Wyatt, it’s me.”

Wyatt turned, searching out Flynn’s face in the dark gray pre-dawn light. Flynn was dressed, more casually than usual, or at least casual for him—in a set of dark pants, a light sandy turtleneck, and a brown bomber jacket.

“Flynn?” Wyatt rubbed at his eyes. “What—what are you doing here?”

“C’mon, get dressed.” Flynn stood up, and Wyatt saw his hair looked abnormally floppy and soft, the lines of his face not as severe, and his heart gave an odd flip.

Wyatt did as he was told, pretty sure that Flynn wasn’t going to kill him after Wyatt had just saved his life. He just grabbed some jeans and a dark blue t-shirt and jacket, not really thinking about it.

Flynn led him down through his apartment complex to the car idling outside, driven by the ever-silent Karl. “You never did get Jessica’s killer, did you?” Flynn asked as he opened the back door for Wyatt, an oddly gentlemanlike gesture.

“Um… no. I mean, we knew who it was but he was a cop, the system protected him.” Wyatt got into the car and Flynn followed him, sitting next to him and closing the door behind him. He tapped on Karl’s shoulder, and Karl started driving out into the early morning traffic.

“When Lorena and Iris died, I knew who had done it,” Flynn said. “And yet, just like with Jessica, I couldn’t get to them. I still haven’t quite gotten to them, not yet. Rittenhouse is still standing despite all of the efforts that Lucy and I have made. But we will get there.” He paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Wyatt tried hard not to track the movement. “I have to believe that we’ll get there.

“I told you, when you were first hired for us, that I understood how you felt. And if I have the chance to help you get rid of the pain that I feel, then I will. I owe you my life and there’s not much that I can do to repay you in the usual way. Looking at your apartment… I’m pretty sure money doesn’t mean much to you, and I don’t think that would be a personal enough gift, and I’m afraid we don’t know you well enough to think of what else to get you. A pair of cufflinks or a book felt… rather small, compared to what you did for us.”

“Sir, you really don’t have to—”

“No, Wyatt, we do,” Flynn said firmly. “We’re well aware that most of our people are loyal to us because they have to be. They’re always looking for a new rung up the ladder they can grab, even if it means climbing over us. Karl here is one of the few that we can trust completely, Jiya’s another—we paid her way through CalTech. Seems you’re one of those people, and we want to make sure to give you what we wish someone could give us.”

The car stopped. “I’ll wait here, sir?” Karl asked politely.

“Yes please, Karl, thank you.” Flynn passed him some cash. “Feel free to go get breakfast, I know it's early."

“Thank you.”

Flynn got out, offering a hand to Wyatt. Wyatt, a little baffled, took it and let Flynn help him out and onto his feet. “This way.”

Wyatt followed him through the alleys to what looked like it had once been the first floor of an office of some kind.

Flynn reached behind one of the abandoned cubicles and yanked someone out, someone tied to a rolling chair—

Oh _fuck_.

It was—

“Gilliam.”

“Logan.” Officer Wes Gilliam looked like he was trying to appear smarmy—the way he’d looked at the trial, Wyatt remembered as he ground his teeth—but was failing when he was tied to a chair and there was a furious six-foot-four Croatian glaring at him from behind Wyatt.

“The law failed you,” Flynn growled. “And let him get away. It protects the corrupt and lets them stay in power, whether it’s cops or rich criminals like Rittenhouse.” He pulled a gun from behind his back and then held it out to Wyatt. “Sometimes we get a chance to take that justice back.”

Wyatt’s heart hammered. How many times had he told Dave that he should just go after Jess’s killer himself? How many times had he lain awake at night in his empty bed, staring at the spot where Jess used to be, anger clawing his throat raw? How many times had he imagined putting a bullet through Gilliam’s skull?

But thinking and wishing was different than doing. It was completely different.

And yet…

“Logan?” Gilliam made a small kind of squeak, like he was just now realizing how much danger he was in. “Logan, Logan c’mon, you wouldn’t—you wouldn’t actually—we’re not that different, you know how it is—”

Oh God, if he admitted that Wyatt was a cop… “Shut the fuck up,” Wyatt snarled. “Shut your goddamn weasel face.”

Gilliam, thank fuck, shut up.

Wyatt was breathing heavy and fast like he’d run a marathon, his heart thundering in his chest. Flynn put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, breathe.”

“I don’t know,” Wyatt blurted out. “I don’t know Flynn I don’t know I don’t know—”

He’d never shot in cold blood before. He’d shot following orders, he’d shot in the middle of a fight, in self-defense, but this was different, there were no orders he could hide behind, no excuses. If he did this, he’d do it because he wanted to end a life.

Did he want to cross that line?

Gilliam decided to try his luck again. “Come on, Logan, please, Jess—would Jess want you to do this? She was a real sweet-hearted girl, you and I both know—”

Rage rose up in him faster than he could possibly comprehend and before he even knew what he was doing he was snatching the gun from Flynn’s hand. “Jess would’ve wanted to be alive, you spineless son of a bitch,” he snarled, his voice cracked and desperate and vicious and not even sounding like his own, and then he was firing the bullet right through Gilliam’s lying twisted fucking face.

Blood went everywhere. Wyatt dropped the gun—thankfully Flynn caught it and put it to the side on a desk—his hands shaking and bile rising up in his throat.

“You’re okay,” Flynn told him, steadying him. Wyatt felt back against Flynn’s chest, shaking. “You’re okay, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” Wyatt spit out on a whisper. It felt like he was going to shake apart, his breath rattling in his chest. “I wanted—fuck I wanted to murder him, I _wanted_ —”

“And you don’t like that you wanted. And that you did.”

Wyatt swallowed, nodding. He really, really didn’t want to ever stop leaning on Flynn.

Flynn turned him around, grabbing Wyatt’s face, shaking him slightly. “Hey. Did he deserve it?”

“Yes,” Wyatt said, his voice shaking but his conviction rock steady.

“If you’re willing to condemn a man, then you have to be willing to carry out the execution,” Flynn said, his gaze intense but his voice soft. “Understand?”

Wyatt nodded. “I understand.” He found his eyes stinging and wanted to wipe them away but his hands and found themselves wrapped around Flynn’s wrists and he couldn’t let go for the life of him. “She was—you know how she died, she was—she had to be scared, she was alone, she was, fuck they broke her arm before they hanged her, and she—he deserved it, fuck, I’m glad, I’m glad and I don’t know what kind of person that makes me—”

“It makes you human,” Flynn replied. “None of us are good or bad, not really. We’re both, sometimes both at the same moment. You took a life, and that’s wrong, but you delivered justice and avenged an innocent woman and God knows how many others, and that’s right. I gave up long ago on deciding where that line is and what parts of me are acceptable or not because that way leads only to insanity.”

“What do you do instead?” Wyatt asked.

“I work on punishing those who deserve it. And I work on protecting the people I still have.”

Wyatt nodded, tipping forward, his forehead resting against Flynn’s. He hadn’t cried in front of anyone since Jess’s funeral, and oddly, he’d have thought that if he was going to cry in front of either Lucy or Flynn, it would’ve been the former.

But here he was, crying, and Flynn was letting him cry on him, and he didn’t mind.

Flynn texted Karl at one point, and Wyatt had thought it was just to ask if he could get them coffee, but when Karl pulled up, Lucy was in the back seat.

Wyatt didn’t even know how to ask, but Lucy shot Flynn a stern look and then pulled Wyatt in next to her. “C’mere.”

Flynn got in the front passenger seat and Lucy held Wyatt’s hand and let him rest his head on her shoulder. She took him back to his apartment, and ordered him pizza, and made him take a shower, and then told him to take a few days off.

“He means well,” she told him, and he knew she meant Flynn. “He wants it so badly, he imagines everyone else wants it.”

“I did want it, though,” he told her. “I’m upset by—by that, more than anything.”

“Mmm.” She kissed him softly on the cheek, a fathoms-deep sadness in her eyes, like a trench at the bottom of the ocean. “It used to upset me too. Take care of yourself, Wyatt. We’ll call you soon.”

Then she left him with nothing but his swirling thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt didn’t know what to expect when he was called into the inner sanctum again. He was still reeling from the ‘present’ that Flynn had given him, from his own reaction to it, from his new understanding of himself and the people that he was starting to… the people that he was starting to understand in a deep and possibly irreversible way, at a level that was so sunk into him he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able walk away from this, when—if—he was eventually pulled out by Denise.

Other than that last time, though, Wyatt hadn’t seen his bosses, and neither had anyone else. All messages had been passed through Karl and nobody had heard directly from them, Preston and Flynn understandably a bit paranoid after this latest attack and, if you asked Wyatt, probably getting a little lost in each other all over again because they were stupidly in love that way.

So when he walked into their private quarters, he was ready for everything from a cash bonus to another job to being reassigned.

Flynn was sitting at his desk, a bottle of scotch opened like he’d just been planning on having a drink, Lucy perched on the desk itself. She smiled like a cat with cream as Wyatt approached. They wore matching outfits that day, Flynn actually sporting a pastel color—clearly Lucy had a hand in his suit construction. Maybe it was a Christmas present or something.

Christmas present or not, it looked… well, everything looked good on Flynn it seemed but this soft light blue shirt with the tan waistcoat ever-so-faintly shot through with gold plaid, tan jacket and pants, and matching dark blue, pale blue, and gold striped tie was—it was—it was—

It was making Wyatt shift around, that’s what it was.

Lucy was wearing a dress in a matching pale blue color, a delicate Chinese flower pattern embroidered on it, a sort of corset-style top and flared pleated skirt showing off both her chest and her legs, a pair of kitten heels dangling from her toes. The epitome of sophistication.

They couldn’t have looked more like a power couple if they’d fucking tried.

“Ma’am. Sir.” He nodded at them. “What do you need?”

Flynn gave Lucy a _go on, this was your idea_ kind of look. Lucy smirked at her husband and then got up and walked over to Wyatt, her fingertips lightly petting his cheek. “Why don’t I get you a drink, hmm? Sit down.”

Heat built low in his gut, but he tried to ignore it as he sat down and Lucy generously poured him a glass. He was almost used to his desire for Lucy and Flynn by now. No reason to get too excited for it.

Except then Lucy handed him his drink and walked around the back of his chair, her hands sliding down his chest and her hair falling around him. “Wyatt. I think it’s time we leveled with each other, don’t you agree?”

Everything in him screamed that this was a trap. Had they found him out? Were they about to kill him?

Lucy’s hand slid down between his legs and he jerked, nearly spilling the drink, looking over at Flynn. “I…”

Flynn gave a faint smile. “I think you’re scaring him, darling.”

“Don’t worry.” Lucy came around front, her hands sliding up his legs. “I don’t do anything Garcia doesn’t like, and he doesn’t do anything I don’t like.”

Flynn rolled his eyes. “What she’s trying to say is that she thinks it would be a great idea if we all slept together.”

“He says it like it’s such a chore.” Lucy looked over her shoulder to pout at Flynn. “It’s always hard for him to talk about things like this. But don’t worry…” She bent down and tilted her head, kissing Wyatt’s jaw. “We’ve seen how you look at us. And after this whole… the past few days, since Garcia’s overtures at romance clearly haven’t at all improved in the last five years, I decided that blunt honesty was the best policy.”

Wyatt gripped his glass, worried he might actually hold it hard enough for it to shatter. “I’m—ma’am—”

“Don’t lie.” Lucy took his face in her hands. “Go ahead. You can be honest. Do you want us?”

Wyatt swallowed, caught in her dark, warm gaze. “Yes. I want you, the two of you.”

Lucy’s kiss was out of the blue, swift, and Wyatt felt himself growing hard as she claimed his mouth like conquered territory, like the final castle to win the war.

She pulled back, looking feral and pleased, and then stood up, walking over to Flynn. Flynn’s face was guarded, and Wyatt felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. What if Flynn really was only going along with this for his wife’s sake?

“Oh, come on, baby,” Lucy said, tilting her head and slinking into Flynn’s lap like a cat. She toyed with the end of Flynn’s tie, tilting her head just a little bit more. “You want him, don’t you?”

Wyatt took another sip of drink just to give himself something to do while Flynn eyed his wife warily. He felt like he was at the top of a rollercoaster, about to lose himself in the rush.

Flynn’s hand fell to Lucy’s thigh, almost habitually, like he couldn’t help but touch her like this constantly, whenever the opportunity arose. His thumb moved back and forth across her skin—then he looked over at Wyatt.

The heat Wyatt saw there made him almost choke on his drink. He set the glass down, not trusting himself with it anymore.

Lucy smirked and stood up, running her hand down Flynn’s arm. “I’m going to get a drink,” she announced, suiting the action to the word. “And then I’m going to sit here. And I think… I think I’ll like what I see happen next.”

Wyatt knew Lucy well enough by now to know that while it was phrased casually, in a light tone of voice, it was as much of an order as when Flynn barked at an idiot grunt. Maybe even more of an order.

Lucky for all of them, it was an order that neither he nor Flynn would have trouble following.

Flynn sat up a little, looking Wyatt up and down, and Wyatt got a dangerous, intoxicating swoop in his stomach. Flynn looked like he wanted to eat Wyatt alive.

And in that moment there wasn’t anything he wanted more.

Flynn stood up, walking over to Wyatt, and hooked two fingers underneath his chin. He tilted Wyatt’s head back, back, until Wyatt’s throat was completely exposed. Wyatt swallowed hard, feeling his collar and tie pulling at him, knowing right now he was absolutely at Flynn’s mercy.

He was so turned on he honestly had a hard time breathing.

Flynn brought his other hand up, lightly trailing his fingertips down Wyatt’s throat until he got to Wyatt’s collar and tie. Wyatt gripped the arms of the chair so hard he could feel his nails digging into the upholstery.

Flynn tugged at his tie until it was just loose enough to slide his collar out from under it and pop the first couple of buttons. Wyatt was dizzy, the fabric of his pants rubbing in exquisite torture against his cock with every slight shift that he made, giving him just enough friction to make him even more desperate.

Then Flynn bent down and slowly began to kiss down Wyatt’s neck, giving a fascinated rumble when Wyatt shuddered in response. Flynn’s fingers left his chin and he splayed his hand lightly across Wyatt’s throat instead, and Wyatt couldn’t have stopped the sound that punched out of him if he’d tried.

“I thought so,” Flynn murmured, tightening his hold just the slightest bit.

Oh God he was going to come untouched like a fucking fourteen-year-old. Fuck.

Flynn’s other hand moved down and pressed against Wyatt’s cock, letting him grind up into the heel of it. He wasn’t even thrusting properly, just sort of jerking and twitching helplessly as Flynn used the tie to keep Wyatt’s head back and slowly, methodically kissed his way down his neck.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, trying to keep from being too noisy, but suddenly Flynn let go of the tie and took Wyatt by the chin, pulling his mouth down until it was open, his thumb hooking over Wyatt’s bottom lip. Wyatt darted his tongue out, flicking it against the pad of Flynn’s finger as he met Flynn’s black, starving gaze.

“We want to hear you,” Flynn ordered.

A whine he’d never made before in his life worked its way out of his throat. Flynn’s smile was a savage, sinful promise, and then he was bending down again, scraping his teeth over Wyatt’s collarbone, sucking what was definitely going to be a hickey into that point on his neck where his pulse beat like thunder, his hand squeezing between Wyatt’s legs and Wyatt made a sound he couldn’t even describe he was going to come oh God oh God oh _fuck_ —

Flynn abruptly pulled back and Wyatt sagged, his body vibrating with tension. “Not yet,” Lucy said softly.

Wyatt looked over at her to see she’d—oh holy fuck—she’d hooked a leg over the arm of her own chair and was leisurely sliding two fingers in and out of herself, her gaze absolutely predatory despite the seemingly vulnerable position.

Her gaze moved from him to Flynn. “Undress him. But…” She looked back over at Wyatt. “Keep the tie on.”

Flynn used the tie to pull Wyatt to his feet, tightening it back up again. “Not too much?” he asked, searching Wyatt’s eyes.

He could feel the tie every time he swallowed. Oh God apparently this was a really, really big kink of his. “No, I’m good.” It wasn’t too tight, he could breathe just fine, but he felt it every second. Jesus he was leaking so much he had a feeling his pants were ruined.

Flynn pulled on the tie until Wyatt stumbled forward, right up against him, and he could feel just how hard Flynn was, catching up against him and Wyatt groaned, wanting, wanting…

Flynn tugged on the tie, jerking Wyatt’s head up, and kissed him.

It was like being set on fire.

Wyatt grabbed onto Flynn, unsure if he was allowed to touch but holding on harder when Flynn gave a growl of approval. He wasn’t sure what it said of him that he could tell when Flynn’s growls were positive ones, but at the moment he didn’t care, he just wanted Flynn to never stop kissing him.

Flynn’s hands made short work of Wyatt’s clothes, stripping him with vicious efficiency, until Wyatt was naked in Flynn’s arms and felt like there wasn’t an inch of him that Flynn hadn’t branded with his touch. His hands pressed into Wyatt’s back, keeping them pinned together, and Wyatt wasn’t even sure he’d be able to stay upright if Flynn pulled away.

The tie jerked and Wyatt was pulled away from Flynn, his head turning to follow, and then another mouth caught against his. _Lucy_. She tasted like scotch, her mouth soft but just as ruthless as Flynn’s, sucking his tongue into her mouth as her hands slid up and down his body.

She stepped back, leaving him reeling. “Lift me,” she told Flynn.

He obliged her, setting her on the desk, and then she kissed him like he held all the air in the room, her fingers spearing through his hair. Flynn’s hand slid between her legs, two of his fingers sinking into her up to the knuckle, and Lucy shuddered and mewled into his mouth.

She let him stroke her for another few moments, then gently pushed him away, reaching forward and tugging on the tie again to bring Wyatt to her. She spread her legs, then reached down, lightly petting his cock.

“Be a good boy,” she told him, her thumb rubbing against the knot of the tie, “and fuck me.”

He swallowed. “Y-yes ma’am.”

Lucy hummed in approval, and Wyatt braced his hands on the desk as she guided him into her. “If you’re very good and make me come, we’ll think about letting you get what you want.”

Wyatt just about choked as he slid into her, biting down so hard on his inner cheek that he tasted blood. Oh, God, she was so goddamn hot and tight and it’d been a long time he wasn’t gonna lie—

He felt Flynn’s hands on his hips and Flynn’s lips against the back of his neck and he moaned.

“Wyatt,” Lucy cooed. “I need to hear you. Do you want to be good for us? Hmm?”

“Yes ma’am.” That was literally all he could think about in that moment, being so very good and doing what they wanted.

Lucy hooked one of her legs around his waist, her heel digging into his back, the other leg spreading out on the desk, Flynn’s hand at her thigh, pinning the leg down. “Mmm, you’re nice and thick. You’d enjoy him, Flynn.”

Wyatt thought his body might have forgotten what air was. Flynn made a thoughtful noise and bit down lightly at Wyatt’s shoulder. “You think so?”

Lucy tugged hard on the tie and Wyatt gave a tentative thrust, unsure if that was what that command meant. Lucy nodded at him and did it again, and he started to move, trying to keep them shallow at first—both for her and for him. If he fucked into her the way he wanted, he’d blow his load in seconds.

“Would you like that?” Lucy asked, breathless. “Or would you—mmm harder, harder—yes good—would you like it the other way around?”

“Either. Both.” His mind was spinning with possibilities.

Flynn pulled away and Wyatt saw him out of the corner of his eye, still fully dressed in his suit, walking over to pour himself a drink. Then Lucy jerked on the tie and Wyatt’s vision blurred with the insane pulse of lust that went through him, turning back to focus on her.

Lucy got her hand in his hair and pulled his face down to her breasts. Well, he’d been accused of being stupid now and again, but he wasn’t quite stupid enough to miss what she wanted. And, God, his mouth was watering just looking at her. She was still in her dress but her breasts swelled against the fabric with each heaving breath and he had no problem sucking at her nipples through the fabric, tracing his tongue along the outline of them, biting down a little and reveling in the cry of approval Lucy gave.

“You’re so good,” she praised, little mewls escaping her as he thrust sharply into her the way she seemed to like. “Got so many plans for you, sweetheart, going to—to tie you up and make you beg for me, going to fuck you ‘til—until you—until you’re begging me to stop, I want you—on your knees, gonna tie your hands and push you down and make you eat me out while I’m doing paperwork, gonna put a pretty collar on you and make you come without—without touching you.” She raked her hands through his hair, scratched up his shoulders, her leg like a vice around him, her body tight and perfect and her words like honey and electricity and he never wanted to stop any of it. “You want that?” she asked, panting, her hips rocking up into him. “Hmm? You want that, my pretty boy?”

Wyatt struggled to answer, and Lucy tugged sharply on the tie. Oh _fuck_. “Yes,” he croaked. “God, yes, please—”

“Beg me like you mean it.”

Oh God yup, he could do that, he could definitely do that. “Please, ma’am, please, please, _Lucy_ , Lucy please I want—I want all of that please whatever you want that’s what I want please please please—”

Lucy clenched around him, her mouth falling open, harsh little pants coming out of her. He saw her eyes slide over to Flynn. “You like this,” she whispered, her voice breathy and high-pitched. “Don’t—you—Garcia?”

Wyatt couldn’t see Flynn, but suddenly he felt a sharp slap to his ass. He jerked, moaning, and Lucy cried out.

“Yes,” Flynn replied, his voice rough and deep as sin.

He leaned over Wyatt and Wyatt felt some of the condensation from the drink drip onto his back, cool and startling against his overheated skin, and it made everything in him spike. He felt a few more drops fall and then there was another slap, and he swore his eyes crossed. It was so hard not to come, it was so difficult to keep holding back, but he wanted to be good to follow orders—

He heard Flynn set the glass down and then he was crossing around, yanking on Lucy’s hair and kissing her. She whimpered as Flynn devoured her mouth, and Wyatt honestly thought he might have a heart attack. He sped up, and Lucy moaned into Flynn’s mouth, and then he felt her coming, shaking and jerking, her leg falling from him as she gave herself over to it.

Wyatt clenched his teeth. He wanted to—he was so close—but he couldn’t—

“Good,” Lucy said, her mouth a wreck from Flynn’s kisses. “Very good. You want to be good for us, don’t you?” She petted his hair and pushed him back gently so he slid out of her. Wyatt whined, his cock now slick and aching almost unbearably.

Lucy clucked her tongue. “I know. We’ll get you better trained. You’re so desperate.” She slid her hands over his chest, his shoulders, his arms, soothing him. “What do you want, Wyatt? Hmm? I think Garcia wants to get in on some of the fun.”

She looked over at her husband, who was watching them both with so much lust in his eyes that Wyatt almost sank to his knees out of impulse. Lucy laughed. “Look at you, you want him so badly.” She winked at Garcia. “Don’t worry, he wants you too.”

She kept petting Wyatt, working him down a little from the edge of desperation. “I bet you’d suck him during a meeting if that’s what he asked of you.”

Wyatt choked on his own spit. He wasn’t into exhibitionism, he wasn’t all that keen on the idea of others seeing him, them, like this, but at the same time—Flynn was rarely hotter than when he was nonchalantly giving orders from his seat at the head of the table.

Lucy kissed him softly. “Mmm, maybe when the conference room is empty.”

“Yes,” Flynn said. He walked over, gently brushing his fingers down the side of Wyatt’s face. “I don’t share,” he growled.

That Wyatt could’ve already guessed, but to hear Flynn say that about him sent a thrill through his chest.

“What do you want, baby?” Lucy asked Flynn. “I don’t know if he’ll last long enough to fuck you properly.”

“No…” Flynn said, musingly, his hand moving down Wyatt’s spine to his ass, squeezing.

Wyatt let out a sound halfway between a gasp and a whine. “I want you to fuck me.”

Flynn arched his eyebrows. “You ever been with a man, before?”

“N-no.”

Flynn spanked him, lightly, and Wyatt jerked, pleasure shooting straight to his cock. Wow, okay, he was a lot less vanilla than he’d thought when he woke up this morning. “No, sir.”

“Better,” Flynn acknowledged. Then he pressed himself against Wyatt’s back, his arm a band of iron around his waist, pinning them together. His lips brushed against Wyatt’s ear and his fingers tilted Wyatt’s chin up again, exposing his throat, keeping him absolutely prone. “When we’re like this, it’s ‘sir’ or ‘Garcia’. Understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Such a quick learner.” He rocked his hips into Wyatt, and Wyatt could feel just how goddamn hard Flynn was, how thick he was. That was—that was gonna be a lot to take. “You sure about this?”

The fact that Flynn’s size intimidated him and he only wanted it more was probably something he should think about later, but right now, all he knew was the desperate fire of need raging through his blood. “Yes.”

Flynn’s hand flattened on his throat and squeezed. Wyatt thought he might come on the spot. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir. Garcia.”

Flynn relaxed his hand, pulling away, and Lucy went back to kissing him lightly all over his face, her hands smoothing over his arms. He heard Flynn walk away, towards the bedroom, and then return. Wyatt expected something, another spanking maybe, but Flynn just ran his hands up and down his back, soothing him as Lucy did.

Little by little, he relaxed, until he heard Flynn pop the cap on something and then felt a finger slide down and he instinctively tensed up again.

“Shhh,” Lucy soothed, kissing along his jaw. “You’re okay, Wyatt. You can say stop at any time, okay? Just relax.”

Wyatt nodded, forcing himself to breathe and let go. Flynn dropped a kiss between his shoulder blades and then used his thumb to massage at Wyatt’s entrance, occasionally catching on the rim, just slowly working him until Wyatt was almost pushing back into it, feeling relaxed again.

Flynn slid just the tip of his finger inside, in and out, gradually moving further in as Wyatt learned to loosen and relax around however much there was already. He was starting to feel this liquid-bone feeling, his body like jelly, sloppy, loose, and when Flynn added a second finger he pushed back against it, seeking out that bit of a stretch. It felt a little weird, but weird was quickly segueing into _holy shit so good_.

“I wanted this when we first met,” Flynn whispered to him, his accent more pronounced than usual as he lost himself in the sensations. “That defiant, cocky attitude, that mouth of yours, I wanted to slide my cock between your lips and get you to choke on it.”

Wyatt wondered if this was what insanity felt like, so driven by physical sensation that he couldn’t even tell what was up or down anymore. Flynn curled his fingers, clearly searching—and then he hit a spot that made a sound very close to a scream rip out of Wyatt’s throat.

Lucy gave a tiny little moan, watching this whole show avidly. “Yes, let it all out, let us hear you.”

“You’d like that?” Flynn asked, adding a third finger and dancing around that spot, only glancing off it at times, making Wyatt’s lungs burn and his heart beat a frantic staccato. “Get on your knees, get me all nice and hard so I can fuck you? Make you scream just like that? If you get too loud we might have to gag you. Nobody else gets to hear those pretty little noises. And you wouldn’t make them for anyone else, would you? Just us.”

“Yes, yes sir, just—just for you, you and Lucy.”

“Say my name, Wyatt.”

“Garcia.” He could barely give voice to his words now, just gasping them out. “Garcia, Garcia, please, Garcia please _please_ —”

“Aww, honey you’re going to break him.” Lucy kissed Wyatt’s cheek. “Go on, fuck him like he wants.”

“Like you want,” Flynn pointed out, withdrawing his fingers. Wyatt moaned, clenching instinctively down around nothing.

“Yes, like I want too.” Lucy looked unashamed and smug. “We can’t push you too far just yet, but don’t worry.” She took Wyatt’s face in her hands as he felt Flynn start to push into him, thick and hard and oh, God, much more than fingers, oh _God_.

“Breathe,” Flynn reminded him, pausing.

Wyatt forced himself to breathe, to focus on Lucy as the pressure built, and built, pressing around him, filling him up all the way to his throat, until he was gulping down air and he could feel Flynn’s hips flush against him.

“Good,” Lucy cooed. “So very good. We’re going to have so much fun with you. Get you so that you can last much longer, get you writhing on Garcia’s fingers for hours. Get you a vibrator, have loads of fun with that.” She nodded at Flynn, who started thrusting.

Fuck he was gonna die like this and he didn’t mind at all.

“I think I’ll tie you down,” Lucy mused, “slide a nice thick toy inside you. Leave you there while we go to a meeting. See if you can go that long without coming. Reward you.” She tilted her head. “Or punish you. I think you’ll like either one.” She leaned in, brushing their mouths together. “You like both ideas, don’t you?”

“Y-es, Lucy,” he choked out. She hadn’t given him instructions on what to call her but he assumed the rules were the same. When she beamed at him, he knew he’d gotten it right.

“But that’s for later, when we’ve worked you up to it.” She looked at Flynn. “Go ahead, honey. Make him come.” She slid her fingers between her thighs again. “I want to see you both get fucked up.”

Flynn started to thrust into him in earnest, hard, sharp, unrelenting movements that had Wyatt’s eyes going wide, unseeing, his hands clawing at the desk and the most obscene noises spilling from his throat. He felt used and owned and claimed and taken and so fucking good. He couldn’t hold on, he needed it to end, but he also never wanted it to go away. He was stuck between them, naked except for the tie that Lucy held between her fingers, tugging every so often to make his breath go short as she fucked herself with her other hand. Both of the other two were still dressed, probably still impeccable, and the contrast just made him feel all the more exposed and vulnerable and _fuck_ he needed to come so badly.

He started begging at some point, _please_ and _Garcia_ and _Lucy_ falling from his mouth like they were the only words he’d ever learned how to say. He couldn’t even see really anymore, overwhelmed, the world a blur of color and pleasure.

Flynn gave a low groan, shoving himself all the way inside, and Wyatt felt him jerk and shudder, felt—oh holy God—felt Flynn start to come, liquid sliding down between Wyatt’s thighs, and he came so hard he stained the desk and Lucy’s dress with it.

He heard Lucy come with a little sigh, and then Flynn slid out of him, and Wyatt almost brained himself on the desk as his legs gave out.

Flynn pulled him back, taking Wyatt’s weight, keeping him upright. “I think a nap is in order.”

Wyatt felt oddly touch-starved and turned to nuzzle into Flynn’s neck. He was pretty sure anyone who’d said that Garcia Flynn would put up with someone nuzzling him would be told they were off their meds, but Flynn just petted Wyatt’s hair and gave him an indulging smile.

They somehow—time and space were a little weird for him at the moment—found their way to bed. Flynn was, evidently, not too tired because he started watching some medical drama on his tablet while Wyatt slumped half on top of him and Lucy snuggled into the middle, Wyatt’s arm around her waist and Flynn’s thigh as her pillow.

“Wyatt?” she whispered, gently running her fingertips over his face.

“Hmm?”

“This is fucking adorable,” Flynn announced, looking down at the two of them.

“Shh,” Lucy rebuked teasingly. “Wyatt, this can be just a one time thing if you want it.”

He struggled to articulate words, his tongue feeling heavy. “I want… when I’m with you two I feel… like I’m special. Like I belong.”

Lucy’s eyes shone. “Oh, sweetheart. Of course you’re special.”

“You belong to us,” Flynn said. He paused. “Not that—you’re not an object, or…”

Lucy laughed softly. “What he means is you belong _with_ us.”

Wyatt nodded. “I’d like that.” In this moment, it didn’t feel like he had to worry about Denise or his job or Lucy and Flynn’s jobs or anything else. It was just them, and how they made him feel.

“Then it’s settled. You’re ours, now. And we’ll take such good care of you.”

It was an echo of what she’d said after he’d first agreed to run for them, but now so much softer, Wyatt almost dared to believe it was with something deeper than simple affection. But that would be too much to hope for.

“Yes, ma’am. Sir.”

Flynn chuckled. “Go to sleep, the both of you.”

Wyatt was happy to do just that, Lucy in his arms and Flynn’s hand carding through his hair.

 

* * *

 

Lucy had known she was in love with Garcia a few months into working together.

She’d known from the start that she was attracted to him. Maybe not the very start, when she first heard about him, when she first caught glimpses of him, but when she’d walked into his office and seen him, struck the bargain—she’d known, then. She’d entertained quite a few fantasies about alternative ways that meeting had gone, other ways they could have ‘sealed the deal’.

But her life wasn’t a porno, so.

And Garcia, as she’d realized quickly, was cranky, asocial, impatient, stubborn, terrible with women—and also oddly a gentleman.

He’d had more than enough opportunities during the time they’d been working together to make a move on her. Quite frankly, she’d created a few of those opportunities. Because hey when you’re working late alone together in your apartment with a perfectly serviceable bed nearby and you’re both frustrated as all get-out… well, there were wonderful ways to work off that frustration together.

But he’d never so much as put his hands places that might be deemed inappropriate. He never treated her like spun glass, far from it, but it was like there was an invisible wall in his head between the two of them, one that he simply couldn’t let himself cross.

That had been annoying, but well enough, when she’d just thought she wanted to fuck him. But then—then he’d gone to set fire to a Rittenhouse property, and it had gone wrong, and she hadn’t heard from him, and her heart had been hammering in her throat all night and when he’d showed up the next morning looking slightly bruised but otherwise fine she’d wanted to fling herself into his arms and she’d thought… oh. Oh no.

Sometimes she’d dared to hope that he might feel the same. He knew she was capable and never underestimated her, unlike just about every other person she could name, but he was insanely protective of her. He fixed her favorite meals for her when they were at his apartment late, and he’d bought her two gorgeous dresses for social occasions when they needed to impress people and win over allies. He’d stay up late with her talking, letting her work her way through his good vodka, either just shooting the breeze or discussing more serious things like Amy, or his family, or what she wanted when she got out.

But then other times she’d remembered… well, she’d seen firsthand his vengeance at work. Garcia Flynn was a man whose love was all-consuming, a love that was terrifying in its depth, and to be so arrogant as to think that he’d moved on from that love to someone like her, the daughter of his enemies….

When she’d gone to say goodbye, her plane tickets bought—that was the plan, she told herself, the plan was to get her out, the plan, remember the plan—she wouldn’t have kissed him if she hadn’t looked back and seen his face.

He probably didn’t realize it, probably never would, but he hadn’t been able to smooth out his features and put his mask back on in time. She’d glanced back and had seen—her breath had caught at the look of agony on his face. Like he was watching everything slip away from him all over again.

She didn’t even remember crossing the room, when she looked back. She just knew suddenly her mouth was on his, and then he was clutching at her and kissing her like it was all he’d ever wanted to do.

And then the ridiculous man had suggested she might just want this to be a one-time thing. She’d realized then that her man—because he was hers, now, and she was his, and perhaps there was a bit of Rittenhouse temperament in her after all because she would burn the world down if anyone tried to claim otherwise—was a complete fool when it came to love.

That was all right. She’d find ways to show him that her devotion was no less than his.

But it seemed that once Garcia knew that she loved him, that she really was his to keep and that he really could belong to her, that she wasn’t letting anything get in the way of being with him—all of the softness waiting dormant inside of him had come to life again.

She’d practically moved into his apartment by that point anyway, having fallen asleep there so many times, her nice dresses hanging in the closet, and all their business conducted there, so she’d just cancelled her lease and parked herself in his bed and made it clear she wasn’t getting out again. Far from complaining, Garcia had looked beyond delighted and had simply changed the name on the lobby plaque.

They’d already been together, she realized, in every way. They spent every moment together, they trusted each other, they spent hours talking, he was the only person she felt safe with… they’d just had to admit it.

Oh, and the sex, she was glad they were doing that now too. She was really enjoying that part.

But the proposal—it took her by surprise and yet, it didn’t. Because of course he already loved her to that degree. Of course the man who was the epitome of ‘one and done’ wouldn’t want to waste a moment.

The fact that it was only a week into their officially being together probably would’ve thrown off anyone else. But they had been together, already, for months. They just hadn’t admitted it.

And she knew, she knew from the moment she’d kissed him that she wanted him for the rest of her life. However long that life lasted in this world.

He’d proposed in their apartment, throwing her off by getting her the piano. She’d always wanted to get better, she’d told him, to learn to play when it wasn’t a chore, an obligatory lesson her mother made her do. She’d chalked up his nervousness to gifting that to her. They both had money, clearly, but Garcia was so careful not to try and use it to win her over. He knew she didn’t care about things like that.

She’d sat down at the piano and lifted the lid—and there’d been that little box there.

The rest was a blur of Garcia on his knees and trying to stumble through a speech he’d obviously spent quite a lot of time rehearsing and then she was in his arms and the ring was sliding onto her finger and she’d started crying because she hadn’t thought—she hadn’t known—she’d thought all happiness like this had died with Amy.

They’d gotten married quietly. Just the two of them and a priest in the evening. They both struggled with religion, but Lorena had been Catholic and that still mattered to Garcia, and on her good days, Lucy liked to think there was a merciful God out there somewhere. Karl and Jiya had been their witnesses (Karl cried and then refused to admit it).

And that had been that. She hadn’t changed her name, since the last thing either she or Garcia wanted was for people to start treating her as merely his wife. She’d worked hard to be his equal business partner and people needed to appreciate that. But whenever she woke up terrified, nightmares swirling around her mind, she would reach over and grab Garcia’s hand and feel their rings clicking together, and she’d squeeze his hand, and he’d squeeze back—even when he was asleep—and she’d know that in this world where next to nothing was certain, she had his love.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt entered the bedroom with only a cursory knock, which told him just how complacent he’d become with this arrangement. Add it to the tally of shit he wasn’t going to think about, he supposed.

“Ma’am?” he called. Lucy was supposed to be in here…

And then he heard the crying.

Wyatt pushed open the door to the bathroom to see Lucy standing at the sink, a—shit a pregnancy test—on the counter in front of her.

“Oh!” Lucy quickly wiped at her eyes, trying to hide what she’d been doing. “Wyatt.”

“Lucy.”

They stared at one another for a horribly awkward moment, and then he gestured at the stick. “Positive?”

She shook her head, her face crumpling. Oh, fuck.

He crossed over to her and pulled her in, holding her tightly as Lucy sobbed into his shoulder.

“W-we decided to wait,” she tried to explain in between her hiccups and tears. “After my childhood, and losing Iris, we didn’t want to risk—we wanted better for our child but—I know it’s a good thing I know but I thought, I was feeling kind of sick and then my period was late so I thought—and I’m glad it’s negative but I’m also—”

Wyatt rubbed her back, rocking slowly from side to side. “I get it, I get it, it’s okay. Just cry it out.”

This was the first time he’d seen Lucy anything short of impeccable. Even when she was at her most passionate, she was in control. But now she was just clinging to him, a mess, and it struck him like a bolt that he cared about this Lucy just as much as the put-together one.

It also hadn’t failed to strike him that it was a huge fuckin’ deal, her letting him see her like this, her seeking comfort from him.

Still, it wasn’t his almost-maybe kid. He hadn’t been sleeping with her long enough for that. That meant that really, Flynn should be having this moment with her. Processing the strange mix of relief and grief.

“I’ll go get Garcia,” he said quietly. He turned his face to kiss her hair, holding her as tightly as he dared, one hand cradling the back of her head. “Sound good?”

Lucy nodded into the crook of his neck, then pulled back. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

She kissed him softly, right on the corner of his mouth, something halfway between a cheek kiss and a mouth kiss—too intimate for the first but too soft and sweet for the lip locking, tongue sucking ones they’d exchanged before.

Wyatt swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’ll be right back.”

 

* * *

 

Flynn was, not surprisingly, in a meeting. Wyatt walked up as Ben and Ivan, the usual bodyguards, lounged outside the door. Ivan held up his hand. “Sorry, Logan, meeting’s in progress. You know the rules.”

“Trust me, he’s gonna want me to interrupt.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

Wyatt glared at him, his temper flaring up hot. “I was sent by Preston. You really think she’s gonna be pleased when I tell her I couldn’t get to her husband for her? Whose wrath you wanna risk here?”

Ivan looked at Ben, and then the two men shrugged, clearly deciding that Lucy Preston was the bigger threat. “Your funeral,” Ben warned as they opened the doors.

Wyatt stepped in just in time to catch the tail end of Jiya’s speech, something about plans for the upcoming end of net neutrality.

“…and so if we…” She trailed off a little as she saw Wyatt walk in. “Uh, if we prepare… using these steps…”

Everyone stared as Wyatt walked past them to Flynn at the head of the table. Nobody interrupted a meeting. Nobody.

He really hoped he wasn’t making a mistake here.

But then he pictured Lucy’s tear-streaked face and thought—no. No, he was doing the right thing.

Flynn gestured for Jiya to keep talking, leaning in a little as Wyatt bent down to him. “This had better be good,” he whispered.

“Lucy needs you,” Wyatt replied, keeping his voice low and using her first name so Flynn would understand the gravity. “The, uh, the stick was negative.”

Flynn’s eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open a little—and then his smooth mask slid back into place, masking the split-second confusion and fear and disappointment. “Thank you.”

He stood, buttoning his jacket. “Karl, I’m sure you can wrap things up from here. Thank you, Jiya, that’s a highly comprehensive report as usual. Everyone else, behave.”

He took Wyatt’s elbow and led him from the room. Wyatt could feel everyone’s eyes on him like a bunch of hot pokers. He’d broken one of the cardinal rules—and wasn’t even getting told off for it.

Ben and Ivan looked equally surprised when he emerged unscathed, Flynn still keeping a light hold on his arm. “Boss.” “Boss.”

“Normally I’d tan your hides for the interruption,” Flynn replied. “As you well know.”

The two bodyguards looked at one another nervously.

“New rule,” Flynn said. “Logan— _only_ Logan—gets to interrupt. Understood? He has full access.”

Ben looked like someone had just told him there were pigs flying past the window. Ivan had a look of amusement on his face that Wyatt didn’t like one bit. “Yes, sir,” they both chorused, dutiful despite whatever their thoughts were.

“Good.” Flynn gave them each a stern look and then continued down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

The moment Flynn saw Lucy—she was on the bed now, curled up—he let go of Wyatt and crossed the room in two strides, kneeling before her like an unworthy supplicant. “ _Moja ljubav, moja najdraža ljubav_ , it’s all right.” He gently brushed the tears from her face and ran his hands through her hair.

Wyatt felt like he should go, but he also didn’t want to draw attention to himself by leaving. Despite all that he had seen from the two of them, this was the most intimate moment he’d seen yet between Preston and—no, between Lucy and Garcia.

“I let you down.”

“You didn’t let anyone down, Lucy, darling, look at me.” He cupped her face. “You couldn’t possibly let me down.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy whispered. “I’m sorry, I just—I know we said to wait but you—I want to give that to you, Garcia, I know you loved being a father and you’d just…” She descended into crying again. “I want it so badly.”

Flynn gathered her up into his arms, shushing her soothingly. He looked over at Wyatt, who was startled to see Flynn’s eyes red and wet. “Please inform the others that Lucy and I are retiring for the day. All urgent messages are to be reported to you. You’ll report them to us. Nobody else comes here.”

“Yes, sir.” He turned to go.

“And Wyatt?”

Wyatt turned back.

“Grab some water on your way back here, I don’t want her to get dehydrated.”

Wyatt’s heart thumped. So, they wanted him to come back. Presumably to—to stay, here, during this painful time for them. He knew without a doubt that if anyone else walked into this they’d get a bone broken, at the least. Weakness wasn’t tolerated from bosses. They always had to put on a strong front.

But they were letting him see this. They were inviting him in.

He nodded at Flynn and left to spread the word.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes Flynn worried that Lucy should have left. That he should have been a stronger man and let her go.

Like now, when he had to hold his wife as she cried and cried over wanting a child, knowing that despite all his work and his promises, he hadn’t given her the life he’d wanted for her, the one she deserved.

But when the time had come, when she’d given him the information on Rittenhouse and it was time for their partnership to dissolve…

He should have let her walk away. He was going to, in the moment. Lucy had stopped by his office to settle everything.

“I’ve bought the plane tickets,” she had said, her voice soft.

“I hope to somewhere nice,” he’d replied.

Lucy had given him this small, sad smile. “You’ll look after yourself, won’t you?”

For her sake, he would’ve done anything. “Of course. Be careful, Lucy. Be safe.”

They’d both stood up then, and had shaken hands—what an absurd thing to do, shake the hand of the woman he was desperately in love with.

She’d walked over to the door, and he’d forced himself to stay still, by the desk, to shove his hands in his pockets and not to reach out to her, not to call her name…

But then Lucy had paused, her hand on the door handle, and she’d looked back at him.

And then she had been somehow across the room, her mouth on his, her hands at his face and he had been holding her because he’d caught her instinctively, and she had been breathing into his mouth, “I’m sorry, I promise I wouldn’t—but you have to know—” And then they’d continued kissing and the rest was lost.

It had been like coming to life, her mouth sweet and hot and a drug the same as the rest of her, making an instant addict of him. “Tell me to stay,” she’d begged. “Tell me to stay, Flynn, _Garcia_ , please.”

“Stay,” he’d repeated. He would always do as she told him. “Stay, Lucy, stay.”

They’d fucked right there on his desk, Lucy half sitting up, little _ah_ noises escaping her mouth with each thrust, and he’d licked into her again and again until she’d sobbed and come and screamed and come and then they’d fucked all over again. He could remember thinking, a little nonsensically, that she was like honey and chili peppers, burning him inside and out but oh so sweet at the same time. They’d been reckless, forgoing a condom, and the sight of her thighs and stomach stained with him had made him lose his goddamn mind, the taste of both him and her on his tongue from eating her out burning right through to his soul.

Afterwards, he’d tried hard not to have any expectations. “This doesn’t change our business relationship,” he’d told her, while buttoning up his pants—not his classiest move. “It doesn’t have to change anything, if you don’t want it to.”

Lucy had given him an exasperated look. “Garcia Flynn, if a girl cancels her flight and her plans to leave the city and begs you to stay and lets you fuck her raw, what kind of fool are you to think this is going to be just a one time thing?”

He’d proposed a week later because he had been, still was, so helplessly in love with her and if she had been stupid enough to stay for him, he wasn’t going to be stupid enough not to make his dedication clear.

He couldn’t regret a second of his time with her. Not when she so plainly needed him, and he would have had stones placed on his chest until the end of time for her. But sometimes he thought… he shouldn’t have kissed her back. He should have pushed her gently away and told her to take the flight. He should have been strong enough to keep her away in order to spare her this.

 

* * *

 

When he came back, bottles of water in hand, Flynn was sitting on the bed, Lucy asleep in his lap, her head resting on his shoulder.

Flynn looked a wreck, Wyatt wasn’t going to lie. Wyatt handed him a bottle and set the rest on the nightstand. Then, before he could stifle and second guess the impulse, he bent down, running a hand through Flynn’s hair and kissing him on the cheek. Flynn’s skin was wet, and Wyatt tasted salt.

“She’ll be all right,” Flynn said quietly, answering Wyatt’s unspoken question. “She just needs… time. This isn’t the first time we’ve had a… a possibility.”

“There’s an IUD…”

“She wants something less permanent. In case we decided that—in case we can have one.” Flynn’s voice was raw.

“I’m sorry,” Wyatt said, surprised to find his own voice had gotten thick, his eyes stinging. “I—if there’s anything, Garcia, anything I can do to help…”

Flynn gave him a sad, small smile. “ _Moje štene_. Unless you can get us out of this life… there’s nothing anyone can do.”

He turned back to look down at Lucy, heartbreak and terrible, soul-deep adoration warring for dominance on his face. For the first time, Wyatt thought Flynn looked tired. No, exhausted.

He sat down at Flynn’s side, helping take some of Lucy’s weight, tipping his head back to rest it against the headboard. He felt Flynn’s hand find his, tangling their fingers, squeezing gently.

They fell asleep, just like that.

 

* * *

 

They had been lying together in bed when they’d discussed it, Lucy's head resting on his chest, the two of them propped up on pillows, the news playing silently on the television in front of them.

Lucy could have gotten out. She almost had. But now she was Flynn’s wife, and she had chosen to stay, and the Petrovs wouldn’t let their best and brightest go quite so easily.

“We could…” she’d started, then stopped. “I want a child.” It had been barely a whisper.

Flynn had kept carding his hand through her hair, even as his heart had screeched to a halt. “With your smarts and my temper? I’m not sure the world’s ready.”

She’d laughed softly, turning to rest her head on his chest, her hand petting his shoulder. “You loved being a father.”

He had. Lucy didn’t, wouldn’t ever, replace Lorena. The love was equal in its depth but unique, just as each woman was unique. He’d been certain, with her generous heart, that Lorena would understand.

Iris, though, his sweet little girl… he wanted to be a father again so badly, but it still felt like a bit of a betrayal, to have another child.

Of course, aside from all of that—

“I can’t lose another child,” he’d said. “We’re targets more than ever. And I can’t—I won’t subject a child to my paranoia. A life with bodyguards, never allowed to leave the house, I mean, what sort of life would that be?”

“I know,” Lucy had whispered. He’d held her more tightly against him, trying to tell her silently that he understood, that he loved her. “And after—I won’t give a child the kind of life I had growing up. No matter how we try, they’ll be stuck in this web and I won’t let that happen.”

“When we’re safe,” he’d promised her. “When we’re free of this, we’ll have as many children as you want.”

“Two suits me fine,” Lucy had replied, cheerfulness forced into her voice. “One with—with your eyes, and—I’d like to name one after Amy—”

She’d started crying, then, and he’d held her and kissed her hair, soothing her even as his own chest felt tight. Then Lucy had pulled herself together. “So I’ll just keep taking my shot. And we’ll wait.”

“Yes.” Oh, how his heart had ached. “We’ll wait.”

 

* * *

 

Wyatt’s reports to Denise were—unknown to her—starting to look like the blacked-out files in spy movies where only one word here or there could be read.

For instance, he had to explain to her that if anyone on surveillance took photos of him, he did not charge those new suits to her account. He told her that Flynn and Preston preferred their men to look sharp, and had told Karl, one of their lieutenants, to open an account for him to get some proper suits made.

The truth was that Flynn had lost patience with Wyatt’s suits about three weeks into fucking him and had dragged him—literally, Wyatt had put up a fight—to the tailor’s.

“My suits are fine!” Wyatt protested.

“Oh, sweetie.” Lucy was rather amused by this whole thing and was tagging along. “They’re practically off the rack.”

“I’m a runner, I don’t even need to look that nice.”

Flynn made a scathing noise in answer to that, plopped him into the back room without remorse, and then he and Lucy spent an hour discussing Wyatt’s “season” and “coloring” with Andrew.

Jesus Christ.

Still, Wyatt couldn’t complain about the absolutely starving looks on Flynn’s and Lucy’s faces when they saw him in his finished suits. They’d barely made it home before the two of them were pouncing on him, and Wyatt was never going to complain about being thoroughly fucked by the both of them.

That was another thing he definitely didn’t tell Denise.

He was in his thirties, for crying out loud, and yet he was having more sex than when he was a teenager. Not that he and Jess hadn’t had a few weekend marathons in their time but holy shit. Lucy clearly had a plethora of ideas she’d been holding back on, and she wasn’t going to waste a second in acting those plans out. And then, well, there were just things you could do with someone of the same sex, or with two people instead of just one. He learned how to give Flynn a blowjob, Flynn’s hand in his hair, instructions murmured in that dark, graveling tone that made Wyatt feel so fucking desperate. There was the weekend they prepped Lucy and then the both of them sank into her, and the feeling of Flynn’s cock rubbing up against his and being inside of Lucy at the same time had almost made him come on the goddamn spot. They’d all been wrecks after that one, and Lucy’d needed to take a couple of days off (to her own annoyance) but it had been so very worth it to feel that utterly connected to both of them, entangled, almost one being. Then there were the times Flynn had Wyatt fuck him, either riding Wyatt like his favorite toy or holding Wyatt as Wyatt lost his goddamn mind inside of Flynn, filthy words muttered in his ear until Wyatt was shaking to pieces.

They’d tried to keep it on the downlow, but Wyatt was pretty sure everyone knew after the time he’d slept over and Flynn had just handed Wyatt one of his own ties, saying with a new tie nobody could tell it was the same suit. Wyatt had taken the tie—a dark burgundy—and hadn’t even thought about how that was Flynn’s signature color until much later when everyone stared at him in the meeting and he realized, oh fuck, they all definitely knew that was Flynn’s tie.

Not that anyone had been foolish enough to say anything.

It wasn’t just sex, though. Wyatt was seeing sides of Lucy and Flynn that he was pretty sure nobody had seen in years, if ever. He’d walked in once to find them dancing to some slow jazz, Lucy’s head nestled into Flynn’s chest—and then he’d spun her out and Lucy had laughed, clear and free as a bell, and he’d pulled her back in and kissed her and Wyatt’s heart had just about cracked open. He’d felt like he was intruding, but then when they’d seen him Lucy had dragged him over to join them and Flynn had pulled him in, one hand firmly at the small of Wyatt’s back and his mouth at Wyatt’s temple as he’d gently led him in a few steps, and he couldn’t even have said what he was feeling in that moment.

They would play card games on the bed, and Flynn would gently card his hand through Wyatt’s hair as Lucy played the piano while only wearing one of Flynn’s shirts, and Wyatt would give Lucy a massage at the end of a long day, and he’d take nice long hot showers with Flynn.

He tried to strike a balance in his reports between making it seem like he was making progress without giving too much away. He didn’t know what to do about Denise, about the truth lodged like a shard of glass in his chest. Sometimes he’d wake up sweating, his face mashed into Flynn’s shoulder, Lucy clinging to Flynn’s other side like a koala, and think that they somehow knew, that he was going to wake up one morning to find a knife in his back, that he had to tell them once morning came—but then morning would come and Lucy would climb into his lap and run her hands through his hair, all soft smiles, and Flynn would grumpily remind the two of them that ‘one cup of coffee’ did not equal a full breakfast, and Wyatt wouldn’t want to ruin it, and so he’d put it off.

Fuck, he had to get some kind of perspective. To that end, he didn’t go straight to Lucy and Flynn’s—he went back to his apartment.

He picked up the mail, mostly junk, and determined he’d spend the night here. Take some time to get his head on straight. He’d need to figure this out sooner rather than later. The voice in his head that told him he had to turn Lucy and Flynn in got quieter every day and he wasn’t honestly all that sad to see it die. They weren’t like the others. They remembered the birthdays of the spouses of the people they worked with and sent flowers. They paid for Ben’s nephew’s college tuition. They had more money than they knew what to do with (Lucy’s words) so they gave it up to charity. One time a special on drugs had come on the news and Lucy had burst into tears, inconsolable all night. They didn’t want to be doing this. Wyatt knew that like he knew his own name.

But how could he possibly protect them?

He went to the fridge to find something to eat—ugh, okay, the only food in there was some cheese that looked like it had developed sentience and was plotting to take over the world. Nothing in the cupboards either.

That gave Wyatt pause.

He went into the bedroom—yup, no clothes, Flynn had thrown out all his old suits and Lucy had started putting Wyatt’s laundry in with theirs. His bed looked cold and small and empty, the sheets neatly tucked with military precision. Nothing like the luxurious, messy, king-sized bed he shared with Lucy and Flynn.

In the bathroom, there was his toothbrush, but Flynn had bought him another one for Wyatt to use at their place because Flynn was tired of Wyatt forgetting and stealing his. There was a layer of dust on the toilet and the tub had a ring around it. In fact, Wyatt didn’t want to look too carefully at the corners of the rooms because the dust bunnies there were more like dust elephants.

Wyatt stood in the middle of his apartment and realized—holy shit. He’d moved in with Lucy and Flynn when he wasn’t looking.

His spy thriller books were on the bookshelves next to Lucy’s history books and Flynn’s science fiction. His suits hung next to Flynn’s in the closet, his shoes were by the door, his TV shows were on the DVR. He knew the Netflix password.

This apartment had been bought specifically for the undercover assignment. It had never been home. His real apartment, the one Dave checked in on once a week, the one with the pictures of him and Jess and the afghan Jess’s mom had made them and the police academy graduation diploma on the wall, that had been home. It still might be home, in some way. Wyatt wasn’t sure anymore.

But this? This apartment with the bare walls and the generic furniture from IKEA, it had never been home.

And Lucy and Flynn… were.

This was the opposite of taking time to get his head on straight, but at the same time, Wyatt had never felt more certain, more _right_ , about anything than he did walking into Lucy and Flynn’s apartment. He even did it using his key, the one Flynn had silently pressed into his palm one morning while carefully not looking at him.

Lucy was curled up on the bed, papers spread out in front of her, while Flynn, clad just in his pajama pants, was looking for something in one of the drawers. Flynn glanced up as Wyatt entered, and Wyatt saw Flynn’s body relax before he went back to his search. Lucy smiled at him, holding her hand out for Wyatt to come to her and take it.

“There you are,” she said, tilting her face up. Wyatt obliged and kissed her, suddenly aware that it was routine—that she would hold out her hand and he’d come to her, that she’d tilt her face up and he’d kiss her. “We wondered where you’d gotten to.”

“Had to stop by the apartment and check the mail,” he explained. He saw no reason to lie about that.

“You should just give up the lease,” Flynn said.

He couldn’t, since if he did Denise would want to know why and where he was now staying, and he couldn’t even begin to explain that. But he played along, ignoring the twist in his gut. “I should?”

Flynn turned and walked over to the bed, his hand lightly pressing on Wyatt’s chest until Wyatt lay down and Flynn could press him into the mattress. He kissed Wyatt’s neck and Wyatt shivered, making a small noise as he tilted his head back to give Flynn better access, his hips rocking subtly up into him. This, too, he realized was routine, the intimate touches, letting Flynn gently manhandle him, responding so eagerly to Flynn’s touch.

“Yes,” Flynn replied, bringing his head up again to look Wyatt in the eye. “You should.”

“But that would leave me homeless. If only I knew two generous people who’d take me in.”

“Mmm, if only you did.” Flynn scraped his teeth over Wyatt’s bottom lip.

“Ruin my papers and I’ll kill you both,” Lucy said idly.

Flynn collapsed onto his side, pulling Wyatt into him, smiling at Lucy. “The sweet things you say, darling,” he told her.

Lucy rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “You know me, always the romantic.”

Flynn was a warm weight next to him, and Lucy was focusing on work but also teasing them, and it was so natural and instinctive and just like every other night, and they’d officially asked him to move in with them after he’d really done that weeks ago, and he loved them so goddamn much—

Oh _fuck_.

Wyatt’s heart leapt up into his throat, strangling him.

He was in love with them. Hell, he was practically married to the two of them. Living with them, letting them pick out new suits for him, sleeping with them literally and figuratively, knowing their secrets, seeing them at their most vulnerable…

His life and his heart were intertwined with theirs.

It was like gazing at an optical illusion and never seeing through it for hours, and then suddenly, bam, it was so obvious, you had to wonder why you’d never seen it before. He was in love with them, so much so it made him ache.

What the actual fuck was he supposed to do with this?

 

* * *

 

He’d been with the Preston and Flynn arm of the Petrovs for a year and a half, and sleeping with Lucy and Garcia for most of that, when he got jumped on a run.

The day had started out so nice, too.

He’d been in the middle of a dream about… something, he wasn’t sure, he was pretty sure it involved dragons though, when he felt someone gently shaking him awake.

He started, then checked to make sure he hadn’t woken up Lucy, who was cuddled up in his arms, her back to his chest.

They all slept haphazardly. Sometimes Wyatt was in the middle, spooning Lucy while Flynn spooned him. Sometimes Flynn was in the middle, the other two sprawled out on top of him. Other times it was Lucy in the middle, Wyatt and Flynn curled up on either side of her like parenthesis, protecting her, keeping her warm. And then other times it would be a messy combination.

“Time to get up,” Flynn told him, gently pushing Wyatt’s hair out of his face. It reminded him of when Flynn had woken him up for to show him Jess’s killer as a thank you for saving his life. Back then Flynn hadn’t even touched him. Now Flynn was soft, his thumb brushing over Wyatt’s cheekbone. “You have your run.”

“Mmm, yeah.” Wyatt slowly backed away from Lucy, extricating his arm out from underneath her sleeping form. “New route, yeah?”

“New route, new people—but you can handle it. I picked out a suit for you, and there’s coffee on the counter.”

“Thanks.” Wyatt got out of bed, automatically kissing Flynn in thanks as Flynn’s arm wrapped around him, his hand warm and supportive at Wyatt’s back. “Be back in a few hours.”

“Be careful,” Flynn told him, brushing his nose against Wyatt’s.

“Yes, sir.”

So yeah, the day started out nothing short of great.

He got to the location of the drop off to find it deserted. Normally there were a couple of men waiting for him, but now… silence.

This was a new location, new people. He’d gotten comfortable enough on some of his other runs that he would tell Julio to say hi to the kids or compliment Sharon on her new haircut. A part of him hated that he’d grown so comfortable with this and wondered if Flynn and Lucy felt the same way, confused and unsure about how normal this was all starting to feel.

But this… this didn’t feel right.

Wyatt put the car in park but didn’t cut the engine, and looked around.

Nobody.

He was tempted to honk the horn to announce his arrival but the hair at the back of his neck was prickling just like it had the day Jess had died, just like it had when those bastards had nearly gotten Flynn…

He opened the car door, reaching slowly for his gun—

A guy came at him from behind, grabbing him. Wyatt threw his head back, felt it hit the guy’s face, heard the crunch as a nose broke. Someone fired at him and fire exploded in his shoulder. _Fuck_. He hadn’t been hit since his last tour, he’d forgotten just how bad damn gunshot wounds fucking stung.

He turned, swinging, landing a gut punch and then a roundhouse into the guy’s temple. He dove for the car, throwing it out of park and backing up, spinning, getting out of there.

In his rearview mirror he saw a woman, a redhead, emerging from the dust, firing at him. He couldn’t get a good look at her face but—hadn’t Emma Whitmore been a redhead?

Fuck. Rittenhouse. Of course it was Rittenhouse.

Why they were jumping him Wyatt wasn’t sure—other than that he was, last he checked, the best runner for the last three months, outstripping Jansen and a couple others. Made sense to take out the other guy’s star player. Thank God they’d been sloppy about it, though. Just one guy to take him down? After he’d been sparring with Flynn—in a non-sexual way—for months down at the gym? Hell no.

Fuck, though, Denise had to know about this. If he was getting a high enough profile in the ranks that he was a target, he had to tell her. And he hadn’t reported to her in a while, she had to be getting angsty.

He put in a call to Rufus on his burner phone. “Patch me into Christopher.”

Denise came on almost at once. “Logan?”

“Ma’am. I just got jumped. Been winged. Rittenhouse, I think.” He winced as his bullet wound made itself known again. Through and through, he was pretty sure when he glanced down to check, thank God, but fuck that hurt like a bitch.

“What? Why?”

“I’ve been the best runner three months now ma’am, as I said in my last report. I think that makes me a target. You want to kneecap the competition’s MVP, after all. Thought you should know. I’m on my way back to Preston and Flynn now to report.”

“No, no this is a perfect opportunity. We’re moving up to stage two if you’re this high in the ranks. Stop by this address and we’ll run a report and have Rufus fit you with some wires.”

That stopped his blood cold. “I can’t wear a wire, ma’am.”

Please don’t ask him why please don’t ask him why please don’t ask him why…

“…then we’ll figure out another solution,” Denise replied. “But you’re coming in. They’ll expect a delay anyway if you got jumped.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Denise had a full medical team waiting at the back of the gas station she’d chosen as their rendezvous point, but Wyatt shook off all attempts at help. “No, no, they’ll want to know who I went to for help, no way.”

“At least let the doctors look at you,” Denise replied, in one of her rare moments where she got motherly.

Wyatt let them check him over while Denise grilled him and they informed him that yes, the bullet had gone right through, and it was pretty much just a scratch, he was lucky, but get it sewn up ASAP.

Denise had them give Wyatt a full examination while they were at it to make sure he hadn’t been sampling the merchandise or anything. “You know this is humiliating, right,” he told her, as Dave stood in the back and grinned and Rufus went off and did… something or other. Wyatt wasn’t sure.

“We’ve put some bugs in your shoes,” Denise said. “We need more than just your testimony, as good as it might be.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Wyatt’s heart rate jumped and he just hoped the doctors wouldn’t pick up on it. Fuck, how was he supposed to hide his relationship with Flynn and Lucy now?

“We’ll need pictures, if you can get them.” Rufus came back in as Denise spoke, handing Wyatt his shoes and then his cufflinks.

“Tiny camera in the right-hand pair,” Rufus said. “Tap the left-hand pair, it sends a signal to the right-hand. Also nice suit.”

“Yeah, you look good,” Dave said. “Is dressing nicely a requirement for their men?”

“Might as well be,” Wyatt replied, hoping he wasn’t blushing. He could still remember Flynn running his hand up Wyatt’s inseam and murmuring about how much he liked the fit of it on him.

“Take pictures, we’ll find a way for you to get the cuffs to a dead drop and we’ll pick them up.” Denise raised her eyebrows. “Anything else you’d like to tell me?”

“No, ma’am, I think we covered everything.”

“These two seem rather mild-mannered for criminals, from what you’ve told me.”

“They’re… not like any other mobsters I’ve seen, ma’am.”

“Hmm.” Denise clapped him on his good shoulder. “You’re doing good work, Logan. Eyes on the prize. It won’t be too much longer. Another year, maybe. Tops.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Oh, the irony of those words filling him with dread.

Dave and Rufus each gave him awkward, careful hugs. He hadn’t seen their faces in months. “How’s my apartment? You enjoying crashing there?”

“Har, har,” Dave said. “Still got all your stuff.”

Wyatt paused. “I was wondering… if you could put some things in storage for me? I can give you a list.”

“Yeah, yeah sure man. And the rest?”

“Sell it, keep the change, give up the lease.”

“…are you okay?” Dave asked.

“Yeah, it’s just… I’m realizing I need to move on, man. From Jess. And I still want—y’know the photos, and some other stuff, but it’s not the same place without her and so when I get back, I want to get myself a new place. Start fresh. This is an opportunity, y’know?”

“I’m real glad for you.” Dave smiled, his face lit up and guileless. Dave never could’ve lasted a day in this kind of operation, joyful and lacking in deception as he was. For a wild moment, Wyatt envied him.

“Thanks, for everything,” Wyatt told him seriously. Things were moving forward and he might never get another chance. “I mean it.”

“I never would’ve thought I’d say this, but I guess going undercover for some criminals was a good thing for you.” Dave pulled away, letting Rufus get his hug in. “All right, get that wound taken care of.”

“All right. Look after yourselves guys. Hey Rufus, tell Mason I said hi and he still hasn’t poached you yet.”

“I hate all of you,” Rufus said in a complete deadpan. “Just so you’re aware.”

Wyatt got carefully into the car so that he wouldn’t hurt his shoulder and checked his official cell phone, the one Lucy and Flynn had the number to.

He had five missed calls and several texts.

_Where are you?_

_Wyatt._

_Wyatt answer your phone._

_If this is a joke I swear to God I’m going to strangle you and not in the fun way._ That one was from Flynn.

 _Wyatt sweetheart we’re worried you’re never late on a run just give us a call okay?_ That was from Lucy.

It was like a fist had reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, and squeezed tight.

They were worried for him.

He started the car and gunned it. Who the fuck cared about speed limits, anyway?

To his shock he realized… he just wanted to go home.

 

* * *

 

Rufus held his breath as he heard Wyatt entering the Preston-Flynn bedroom. Bold of Wyatt to go right there to report about the tussle. Rufus just hoped it wouldn’t backfire on the guy. It was either a huge stroke of luck or the worst coincidence ever that the guy Rittenhouse had decided to try and jump on his run was the undercover cop. If Wyatt pulled this off, he’d be trusted by Flynn and Preston completely. If he didn’t… if they detected even a whiff of complicity…

He really didn’t want to have to listen to his friend die.

 

* * *

 

Lucy looked up as Wyatt entered, her hair, makeup, everything perfectly styled as usual. He could see now that no matter how comfortable she got in it, how much she even liked looking dolled up, it was still, at least partly, a mask.

She took one look at him and dropped the earring she was putting in. “Wyatt. Oh my God.”

He looked down at his shirt and grimaced. The blood had started to congeal and cause the shirt to stick to his skin since he’d done the delivery. “It’s not as bad as it loo—”

Lucy grabbed him by the shoulders and swung him around to sit on the bed. “Take off your shirt.”

Wyatt did as he was told, wincing when it pulled at the torn skin. “Rittenhouse jumped me, knew where I was. I think we’ve been sold out.”

Ironically, not by him. Not yet, anyway.

Lucy went into the bathroom, coming back with a small first aid kid and a damp washcloth. She set the former on the bed and used the latter to start cleaning Wyatt’s wound. “Damn moles. They keep popping up no matter how much we stamp them out. Now hold still.”

 

* * *

 

Rufus listened as Lucy Preston apparently started stitching Wyatt up. “I do this for Garcia all the time,” he heard her say. “He doesn’t trust anyone else.”

“He’s a paranoid guy.”

“He has a reason to be.”

“Never said he didn’t.”

“You should have gotten this checked out.”

“No ma’am. Wanted to report first.”

There was a pause, and then Rufus heard what was undeniably—

Ohhhh fuck.

God _dammit_ Wyatt, you had to go and start banging the woman not only your boss but the woman whose husband would murder you in your sleep for it!?

 

* * *

 

Lucy kissed him until he was nice and relaxed, then pulled back and started stitching him up. “We’ll look into this, but we’ll need a proper report.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“I’ve got kind of a feeling for this stuff.”

She finished the stitches and placed a soft kiss to the now-closed wound. “All better.”

Fuck, that soft look in her eyes was doing horrible things to Wyatt’s heart. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Lucy’s eyes darkened a little, but then the door banged open and Flynn walked in. “What the _fuck_ am I hearing happened on your run?”

 

* * *

 

Rufus just about choked. How the hell was Wyatt going to explain being shirtless in front of his wife to Flynn!?

 

* * *

 

“It was going to happen,” Lucy replied evenly. “You’ve made no secret that Wyatt’s your favorite, if Rittenhouse was going to target any of our runners it would be him.”

Flynn looked less than happy with this observation, his jaw working, and then he walked over to Wyatt, running a hand through his hair and then down to cup Wyatt’s jaw. “You’re all right?”

“Just winged me.”

Flynn’s shoulders loosened up somewhat, his eyes flicking to the stitches. “No chance of infection?” he asked Lucy.

“I put some antiseptic on but it seemed clean.”

“Am I really your favorite?” Wyatt teased, wanting to lighten the mood a bit. Flynn still looked like he wanted to rip someone’s throat out with his bare hands.

Flynn’s gaze flicked up to him, and then he leaned in, his mouth hovering just a hair’s breadth from Wyatt’s. “What do you think?” he whispered.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Rufus really, really didn’t want to be hearing what he was hearing right now.

Not just because the last thing he needed to hear was his friend and coworker getting kissed, and apparently very intensely, by one Garcia Flynn—or anyone, for that matter.

But also because there was no way he couldn’t tell Denise about this.

Despite what the movies showed, sleeping with the mark or even a friend or family associated with the mark was never, ever a good idea. It meant the lines were getting blurred for the cop. It meant the mission might get compromised.

It meant Denise would have to pull Wyatt out.

Rufus didn’t want Wyatt to get suspended or anything for this. It could be he felt he had no choice, that he couldn’t say no, it could be the only way he saw to get certain information, it could be any number of things.

His gut, though, reminded him that Wyatt hadn’t been with anyone since Jess. That Wyatt hadn’t been with anyone besides Jess, ever. If Wyatt was sleeping with both Preston and Flynn, then Rufus’s gut told him that meant—

Didn’t matter. What mattered was, he owed it to Wyatt to give him a head’s up.

 

* * *

 

“I should get shot every day if that’s the welcome home I get,” Wyatt told Flynn about, oh, an hour later, feeling thoroughly fucked.

Lucy was reading some reports on her tablet next to him, her hair mussed but makeup somehow not even smudged, her free hand running softly through his hair.

Flynn was sitting on the edge of the bed, putting his clothes back on. Which was a shame.

“It’s not happening again,” he snapped quietly. “We’re finding the mole.”

“Should we pull him as a runner?” Lucy asked, not looking up from her tablet or pausing in petting Wyatt. “He’d make a good lieutenant.”

Wyatt’s heart thumped. Lieutenants were powerful, the right-hand men (and women) of the leaders. To be named one in so short a time after joining…

“It’ll piss too many people off,” he said. “People grew up in this family, they’ll want the promotion first.”

“Do I look like the kind of woman who cares if she pisses people off?” Lucy replied, still not looking at either of them but arching an eyebrow.

“He’s our best, we’re not pulling him,” Flynn replied, standing. “Not until we can get him to train some others to replace him.”

Lucy set down her tablet and reached over to do Flynn’s tie for him. “Well, he will be attacked again. Because…”

“If someone is clearly dear to me,” Flynn said, and Wyatt’s heart squeezed all over again, “then everyone should know better than to touch them. And if people haven’t figured that out yet, then maybe we need to make a little demonstration out of this mole.”

Lucy rested her hand on Flynn’s chest. “Don’t have too much fun with it, you know they’ll start calling you a sociopath again.”

Wyatt swallowed. He’d even said that about Flynn, once upon a time.

Flynn gave a small, chilling smile. “If people haven’t yet learned not to mess with us, then maybe a little sociopathy is what we need.”

He kissed her in that soft yet all-consuming way that Flynn always kissed Lucy, like he’d get lost in her if he let himself. Then he braced one hand on the bed so he could lean over and kiss Wyatt. Wyatt just about melted.

Once Flynn was gone, he turned to see Lucy smiling at him in amusement. “What?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I always wondered what I looked like when he kissed me. I think I just got my answer.”

…oh.

 

* * *

 

Flynn insisted that Wyatt know nothing about their operation in finding the mole in the organization. “You’re already a target,” he growled. “You’re staying here, out of harm’s way.”

‘Here’ was the bedroom.

“Oh, no,” Lucy pouted. “Whatever will I do with him, all alone for days?”

“Just don’t break him,” Flynn said wearily, winking at Wyatt once Lucy’s back was turned.

Wyatt couldn’t have stopped his blush for a million dollars.

Over the last few months Lucy had made good on a lot of the filthy promises she’d made to him, as had Flynn, and now it seemed that she wanted to play one of her favorite games.

Games of the ‘tie Wyatt up and make him beg’ variety.

Wyatt was helping her with paperwork—genuinely helping her, not sexually helping her—when Lucy decided she was bored and took the papers out of his hand, seating herself in his lap. Wyatt had noticed both Lucy and Flynn got more playful as time went on, a softer, lighter side coming out in them that he never would’ve guessed existed when he’d first met them. He suspected most people in the organization didn’t suspect these parts of them existed, either.

“I think I’ve reached the limit of my productivity,” Lucy announced, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Ma’am, I didn’t know any better I’d think you wanted something a bit unprofessional from me,” Wyatt replied, letting a lazy smile flit across his face.

“Oh, no, we can’t have you thinking that.” Lucy’s smile was gorgeous and teasing but no less sinful or in command for it. “I want something _very_ unprofessional from you.”

She yanked his shirt down, basically imprisoning his wrists down by his sides, and then tugged on him until he followed her to the bed. Wyatt kissed her all over as she stripped the both of them, partially because he knew she liked it and partially because, well, he damn well liked it too. Lucy was beautiful, he knew that, and yet seeing her like this, the miles of her skin, the curves and angles of her body, always took his breath away.

Lucy pressed him down onto the bed, then reached underneath to pull out the leather box they stored under there. The red silk ties had made Wyatt’s heart leap into his throat the first time he’d seen them, but now they gave him a comfortable thrill. He could feel his cock hard and heavy between his legs, and tried to even out his breathing, knowing it would be a while before Lucy let him orgasm.

She dragged the silk against his throat, a look of predatory pleasure on her face as she watched his reaction. “You want your collar?”

He preferred Flynn’s hand, but Lucy’s were too small, so when Flynn wasn’t there they used the collar instead. It would make it harder for him to hold off his orgasm, but… “Yes, please, ma’am.”

Lucy pulled the silk away, and Wyatt dutifully raised his arms to the slats in the headboard, allowing her to deftly secure his wrists. He’d watched her do this to Flynn, too, watched her tease and order until Flynn was finally out of his head and utterly relaxed, putty in her hands. Wyatt had come just from fucking his hips into the mattress and watching that, the events unfolding in front of him so goddamn hot he’d thought he was going to crawl right out of his skin.

He breathed deeply, carefully, as Lucy had him test the hold and got his approval. Then she pulled the collar out of the box.

Wyatt’s pulse spiked as he lifted his head, letting her slide it into place around his neck and tighten it, securing it. His head dropped back down and he swallowed, feeling the light pressure. His cock jerked at the sensation.

Lucy pulled out the lube last, then set the box aside. “Today we’re going to play the quiet game,” she told him, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

Wyatt had a little trouble staying quiet, to say the least. Flynn had clapped a hand over his mouth quite a few times, because the walls were thick but there were some things poor Ben and Ivan didn’t need to know about.

“If you’re good and quiet, and you don’t beg until I say so, then I’ll let you come. If you make a noise, I extend the time. If you beg before I say you can, I leave you.” He knew she’d do it, too—one time he’d been bratty and Lucy had left him hanging for half an hour as punishment. “Are those acceptable rules?”

Wyatt nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He could always veto a rule if he didn’t feel he could handle it that day.

“Okay. Safe word?”

“Crosby.”

“Good boy.” Lucy set a timer on her phone, set it on the nightstand, and then put her finger to her lips, signaling that the game had begun.

She kissed him, and Wyatt swallowed down his urge to groan. Lucy kissed with purpose, with spitfire, and he could never resist giving all of himself over to her.

Lucy kissed her way down his neck, knowing it was sensitive, her teeth fixing on his collar and tugging. Wyatt struggled to hold still, to not make a sound.

Lucy continued her way downward, taking plenty of time at his nipples, licking and sucking until Wyatt was twitching away from her, gasping soundlessly, oversensitive. She looked up at him through her lashes and Wyatt bit down on his whine just in time.

“You’re doing well,” she praised.

As if that was actually going to get him any mercy.

He uselessly instinctively tugged at the ties as Lucy sucked a hickey into the fragile skin at his hipbone, her hands holding him down and her breasts dragging over his leaking cock. She noticed his reaction to that and shifted, getting his cock directly between her breasts and dragging her body up and down purposefully, the image sending frantic heat through him but the pressure not enough to do more than tease him.

He wanted to beg, he wanted to beg so badly, but he had to hold on, just a little longer, he’d be good.

Then Lucy winked at him and took his cock into her mouth.

Wyatt yanked on the ties, his legs seizing up as he stopped himself from bucking his hips up into her mouth. Lucy licked a nice long stripe up the underside, rolling his balls in her hand, tonguing the slit before sinking back down onto him. Wyatt thought he saw goddamn stars. He could feel the orgasm building up, and he wanted to warn her but he couldn’t talk, he didn’t know if he could stop it, he wanted to be good, he wanted—

Lucy pulled away and pushed herself up, moving back up the bed until she was kneeling over his face. “You know what to do,” she ordered, gripping the headboard. “Get me nice and ready for you.”

Wyatt choked on the desperate noise that tried to force its way up his throat and obliged her, sliding his tongue through her slick folds, working it inside of her bit by bit, sucking her into his mouth and letting his teeth scrape lightly against her clit, knowing Lucy liked a bit of edge to her pleasure now and again. It was a little sloppy, he thought, given his position, but Lucy was certainly enjoying it given the little sighs she made and how her hips pressed down into his tongue as he fucked it in and out of her, curling and thrusting until she was so wet it started to slide down his chin and her inner thighs were rubbed red from his stubble. The collar kept his throat feeling tight, rubbing slightly, and it just about drove him mad.

Lucy pulled back, petting him. “Very good.” She moved back, then, and gripped the base of his cock firmly in her hand, squeezing, holding his orgasm at bay. “You can beg, now. Beg me to let you fuck me.”

The words spilled out of him so fast he almost got tongue-tied. “Please Lucy please let me oh God I’ll be so good I’ll make it feel so good for you please I need it I want it so bad give it to me please Lucy—”

“Shh, shh, you can have it, you get your reward,” she promised him, and then she was sinking down onto his cock in one slick, glorious slide and his vision went blurry for a second.

Lucy fucked herself onto his cock like she was trying to beat a timer, like she was on a horse in a rodeo, determined and fast-paced and gripping him with her thighs and hand until she left marks. Wyatt’s eyes just about rolled back into his head. “I’m—I’m gonna—Lucy, please—”

“Go on,” she hissed, her eyes slits of pleasure, her hair loose and curling around her shoulders, her skin shining with sweat. “I want—want to feel you—”

Wyatt shuddered, his arms yanking, the collar tight around his throat like a hand, like ownership, and Lucy gave a little cry as she started to come and he couldn’t—he was—oh _God_ yes, yes, _yes_.

Lucy didn’t let him slide out of her, though. Wyatt whined as she kept thrusting up and down, starting to get oversensitive. “Lu—Lucy—what—oh God—”

“I’m not finished with you yet,” she replied, rubbing her clit as she kept working herself on his cock. “You’re going to come again.”

Oh God he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ , he’d just— “Lucy, Lucy please I—oh my God oh my God—” It was too much, it had an edge of pain but she kept going and oh holy fuck he was starting to get hard again, his body unable to resist the stimulation, his nerves responding the way they were programmed. He writhed helplessly, every touch too good and too much at the same time. He instinctively tried to draw his legs in but he couldn’t, not when she was on top of him like this. “Lucy, Lucy, _Lucy_ —”

“You know how to stop this,” she reminded him. All he’d have to do was give the safe word. “Or you can trust me.”

A whine ripped itself out of him, each sound, each sharp inhale making the collar press against his throat. “I trust you I trust—oh fuck oh fuck oh God—” He was hard again, aching, and it was too much but he needed to come he needed nothing else it was all he could think about—

“Beg properly, Wyatt.”

“Ma’am, please, ma’am I’ll be good I—it’s, it’s too much I—” He felt Lucy coming again and he sobbed, she was clenching down around him and he couldn’t hold back, his body violently jerking and then going completely limp as he came a second time.

Lucy moved off of him and he whimpered. Jesus, his vision was swimming.

Lucy took off the ties first, massaging his wrists. “You’re going to rip the headboard off one day, you or Garcia,” she teased, setting them down and then taking off the collar. Wyatt felt heavy, his limbs boneless, the way he always did after a good scene. Lucy cleaned them up and then sank against his side, petting his chest. “You were very good today. What do you want? Movie? Water? Sleep?”

“Sleep,” Wyatt slurred.

“Okay, sweetheart.” Lucy draped her arm over him. “Sleep it is.”

He couldn’t even remember falling asleep, which showed just about how exhausted he was, but he woke up to Lucy petting his face. “Time to eat something,” she whispered.

He propped himself up on an elbow and glanced at the clock—it had been half an hour. “Like what?” Lucy was a terrible cook and so was he.

“Mmm, pizza?”

He laughed, leaning in to kiss her—and the door opened.

Flynn walked in, looking annoyed but otherwise not a hair out of place. He got a slightly amused look in his eyes when he saw the two of them. “Looks like you two had fun while I was out.”

“Busted,” Lucy said as Wyatt huffed out an embarrassed laugh.

Flynn walked over, one hand in his pocket. “We caught the guy.”

“Oh, baby.” Lucy got out of bed and walked over to him, completely unconscious about her nakedness. She placed her hands on Flynn’s chest and kissed him. “I knew you would.”

Flynn gave a little growl and got his hands around the back of her thighs, lifting her and lightly flipping her back onto the bed. Lucy laughed, reaching for him, but Flynn got onto his knees instead. “Hold her arms,” he instructed Wyatt.

Wyatt took Lucy’s arms and pinned them over her head as Flynn kissed along her stomach. “Garcia—Wyatt—oh you bastards— _oh_ —” This second noise was breathy and inadvertent as Flynn licked all the way up through her folds and then sealed his mouth over her clit, sucking.

It made Wyatt’s blood run hot just to watch. If he could’ve gotten it up just then he would have, but his session with Lucy had brought him down for the count in that regard for another hour or so.

Flynn was merciless, sucking and licking at her until Lucy’s legs were seizing up and she was yanking at Wyatt’s hold, and then pulling back and kissing along her thighs, teeth emerging to bite lightly now and again. God, Wyatt didn’t know which of them was hotter and thank God he didn’t have to choose.

Lucy dug her nails into Wyatt’s forearms. He was the one who ended up tied down the most, Flynn second, but Lucy did like to be held down and tied up now and again. With her generally being in charge it just didn’t happen as often. “Garcia, Garcia, come on, please, please—oh Wyatt come _on_ —”

Wyatt looked over at Flynn and grinned at the amusement in his eyes as he sealed his mouth over Lucy again, eating her out with an enthusiasm that made Wyatt shiver. Lucy’s back bowed, her flushed skin on gorgeous display, her dark hair spilling out over Wyatt’s knees and the dark green-gold bedspread, her mouth bitten red from her own teeth. It was entrancing, and Wyatt knew he’d be remembering this moment for the rest of his life, the erotic beauty of it, the way her body moved unconsciously in pleasure and became a work of art.

Then Flynn did something with his tongue and Lucy screamed, her hips shooting upwards, her fingernails leaving dark curved marks in Wyatt’s arms, and Flynn pulled back with a slick, swollen-lipped smirk.

Lucy fell back onto the bed, panting, and Wyatt decided that Flynn not only deserved to be rewarded for all the hard work he’d put into the last few days but needed to wipe that decidedly smug look off his face. And since Lucy was in no position to do anything, and she did enjoy a little show… and he had been practicing his blowjob skills so very regularly…

He crawled over until he could move off the bed, getting onto his knees and reaching up to undo Flynn’s belt.

Flynn smirked at him, but that smirk quickly morphed into a tiny exhale of pleasure as Wyatt took out Flynn’s half-hard cock, flicking his tongue out to tease the head peeking out from the foreskin. Wyatt had definitely not dealt with that before, but then he’d never sucked anyone’s dick before either, and he’d let Flynn coach him through it until now Wyatt knew how much fun it could be. He got his tongue underneath, tugging just the slightest bit with his teeth now and then, slowly working the foreskin down until he could suck properly at the head. Flynn’s hands dug into Wyatt’s hair, his hips jerking forward in tiny, aborted thrusts, his chest heaving and his face beautifully overwhelmed as Wyatt went to town.

Lucy got onto her side, her head resting on her hand propped up by her elbow. “Mm, someday I’m going to film you.”

Flynn growled a little, his hand tightening in Wyatt’s hair. Flynn wasn’t jealous in the sense that he flew into a rage whenever someone got touchy with Wyatt or Lucy. He trusted them to handle their own business and he certainly knew they wouldn’t cheat. But he carefully and fiercely guarded their intimate moments. A video file meant someone could theoretically find it and view it, and it seemed that didn’t sit well with Flynn even in theory.

“So fierce,” Lucy laughed. “Oh my darling, whatever are we going to do with you?”

“Let me orgasm at some point, I hope.” The sentence didn’t come out as snarky as Flynn had hoped, seeing as Wyatt licked a stripe up the underside of his cock at that moment and Flynn made a beautifully strangled noise.

Wyatt swirled his tongue around the head, enjoying the weight and stretch of it—something he never thought he’d say even in his head—as he sank down, taking Flynn inch by inch into his mouth. He wasn’t as good at this as Lucy was, not yet, but he could give it all he had, and he got his hands around to grip the back of Flynn’s thighs and keep him in place a little as Wyatt started to work himself up and down properly, getting a rhythm going.

Flynn grunted, his fingers shaking a little where his hand came to cup Wyatt’s cheek, feeling his own cock moving inside of Wyatt’s mouth. A long, low groan sounded from him and Wyatt felt a bone-deep satisfaction as Flynn worked his thumb in, hooking it over Wyatt’s bottom lip, opening Wyatt’s mouth that little bit wider. Wyatt relaxed his jaw, flicking his eyes up to gaze at Flynn through his lashes as Flynn began to shallowly thrust in and out, and he saw the moment that it all became too much and Flynn’s face went completely slack, just before he came with a violent jerk down Wyatt’s throat.

Wyatt coughed, having to pull back, some of it getting onto his face as a result. Yeah, pro at swallowing he was not. But Flynn didn’t seem to care, far from it, and next thing he knew he was hauled up onto the bed by two sets of hands so that Lucy, and then Flynn, could kiss him until the salty taste was replaced by the heat of their mouths.

After that it was a series of long, lazy kisses traded back and forth as they finished stripping Flynn and got him to tangle his limbs with theirs in the bed, hands petting everywhere they could reach, all of them skin hungry.

“You’ll come with us,” Lucy said, as Wyatt drew his fingertips up and down her stomach and Flynn patiently, carefully untangled her hair so he could run his fingers through it. “When we deal with this little issue. You were the one attacked, after all.”

“What happened with Emma?” he blurted out. “I know you hate Rittenhouse but—why her, specifically? Why not your mom?”

Flynn draped an arm over Lucy protectively. She sighed, her gaze far away. “Emma killed my little sister. Amy.” A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. “My precious baby sister. And it was my fault.” She shrugged, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I wasn’t there when Amy needed me and so Emma got to her. All of Rittenhouse is vile but Emma… she’s the type of snake who’ll make a home anywhere so long as she gets power out of it. I’ll stamp her out of it’s the last thing I do.”

“You’ll kill her?”

“I’d like to.” Lucy petted her hand through Wyatt’s hair, to show him she wasn’t upset with him. Her other hand cupped Flynn’s cheek, steadying him, letting him know she was okay. “But jail works just as well. She won’t last long in prison. My family has made far too many enemies as of late, and Emma was always particularly reckless in that regard.”

“I’m sorry,” Wyatt said. “I shouldn’t have asked and—and I’m sorry that you lost your sister.”

“You can ask whatever you want, Wyatt. It’s a fair question. One could say it was unfair of us to mention Jessica when we first met you.”

“That was business.”

“That doesn’t make it kind. And while we can’t always—we do try to be, when we can. Kind.”

He glanced up at her. “What about this mole?”

Flynn answered instead.

“In that matter…” His eyes shone darkly, and his hand came down to take Wyatt’s, to bring it up and kiss Wyatt’s still-bruised knuckles. “…we won’t be kind at all.”

 

* * *

 

Wyatt followed Lucy and Flynn down to the warehouse. He’d been careful not to wear the shoes with the bugs in them—in fact he’d been avoiding wearing those as much as possible except when he was on runs. He didn’t know just how much they could pick up, and he knew Denise would get suspicious soon but… he just couldn’t violate the intimacy of their apartment. He just couldn’t throw all that away, this one place where Lucy and Flynn felt safe, where—where he, honestly, felt safe.

And he didn’t know what was happening today, exactly, but he sure as hell wasn’t wearing the shoes to it.

Lucy, he noticed, was wearing something a little tighter than usual, her lips a bright red she rarely sported, her nails painted. Flynn looked like a tiger that had finally been set loose.

When they got inside, he saw there was a figure tied to a chair on top of some laid-down tarp.

…oh fuck.

If he’d been wearing a wire, Denise would’ve had a field day. Even without a wire—if Flynn or Lucy or both killed this guy, he’d be a witness, he could turn them in right now.

Odd how the thought of that was worse than the idea that this man was possibly about to die.

But then—after what he’d done to Jess’s killer—how could he claim he was any better than whatever Lucy and Flynn were about to do?

It was like a flashback to that moment, a man tied down in a chair, and Wyatt couldn’t help but wonder if Flynn thought Wyatt wanted to kill this guy too. But this wasn’t personal, or at least not just personal to him. It was business, as well, and it was Lucy’s family, all tied up into one big snarl.

The man’s head jerked up as they approached. Wyatt’s stomach dropped out—it was Jansen.

“Right,” Flynn said. “I think we all know why we’re here.”

Lucy sat down in a chair and pulled out a book on the Salem Witch Trials, propping her feet up on a nearby table. Wyatt leaned back against the table, unsure what he was supposed to be doing here.

Flynn took off his jacket and passed it to Wyatt, who set it neatly next to him. What the hell was he supposed to do? Just… say nothing? Was he going to have to kill this guy?

“You sold us out,” Flynn said, casually, like he was talking about the weather. “We’re not here to debate that. We’re here to talk about why.”

“I—”

“More specifically,” Flynn went on, “we’re here to talk about why you would be so fundamentally stupid as to target someone you knew would piss me off the most to lose.”

Jansen’s gaze flicked over to Wyatt, then back to Flynn.

Wyatt decided to go and stand behind the table. For. Y’know. Reasons.

Lucy smirked, still reading her book. “Gets me wet,” she whispered to him.

Wyatt gave her a _did you really just say that_ look.

She shrugged. “That’s why you walked around back here, isn’t it? So he can’t see if you get a little… hot under the collar?”

Wyatt glared at her but Lucy just laughed, peeking up at him through her lashes. “Sweetheart, you are far too obvious to be indignant over this.”

Flynn and Jansen were talking about—something, and then Flynn growled and stormed over to Wyatt. Wyatt had about ten seconds to think _oh please fuck me_ and then think _why would I think that right now this is the worst time to think that_ and then Flynn was carefully undoing Wyatt’s tie.

“Sir?” he croaked out.

“You’re not overly fond of this, are you?” Flynn asked.

“Um… no?”

“Good.” Flynn wound the tie around his knuckles, then smoothed out Wyatt’s collar, popping the top button. “Better.”

Then he walked over to Jansen and punched him right in the jaw. “I don’t feel like splitting my knuckles,” he said absently, almost as if he’d just realized he should probably explain the tie, and then he landed another punch, this time on Jansen’s temple.

Jansen split blood. “Like I had a choice,” he snarled up at Flynn. “Once Rittenhouse talked to me I knew it was over. You’d kill me just for talking to them when it wasn’t even my choice. You’re all the same—”

Flynn punched him again, harder. “We are _not_ Rittenhouse,” he spat, and oh fuck, Wyatt hated that he was so goddamn turned on by this. “Watch. Your. Tongue.”

Jansen glared up at him.

“Answer the questions, Jansen, you just might get out of them with a painless death,” Flynn observed. “Why’d you turn? Why not tell them no thank you? Have we treated you poorly? Treat it like a customer service survey.” Flynn gave a smile that was more like a wolf baring its teeth.

“You’re no better than Rittenhouse, or any of them,” Jansen spat. “You like to think you’re better but you’re violent, sociopathic scum—”

Flynn landed another punch, real anger showing on his face now, making the lines of it go tight.

Jansen looked over at Wyatt. “And you? You think they’ll keep you? That they won’t grow tired of you? Like it wasn’t a pleasure to know they were gonna put a cap in your insolent ass—here only a few months and upstaging the rest of us—”

“Oh, sorry, _sir_ ,” Wyatt replied, bracing his hands on the table. “Didn’t realize—”

The rest of what he was going to say died on his tongue as Flynn let loose with a punch so hard, Jansen’s eye burst out in red.

Holy _shit_.

“Flynn.” Lucy’s voice was a whip crack.

Flynn paused, chest heaving, looking over at her.

Lucy carefully placed a bookmark in her book, set the book down on the table, and stood up. “You’re showing your hand, my love.”

Jansen looked over at her. Lucy smiled, and oh, there was honey and poison in that smile.

She walked around the table. “Is that what upsets you so much? It’s not the pay, after all. Wyatt?” She beckoned for him to walk around the table and stand next to her. “How much do you make per run?”

“Ten grand base pay, higher pay the longer I go with successful runs, five grand bonus if I’m under a certain time frame.”

“That’s what you’re paid, isn’t it, Jansen?” Lucy cocked her head and observed him. “And Wyatt’s administrative duties haven’t changed. He’s still a runner. He doesn’t get a seat at the table, he doesn’t own a faction, he doesn’t take a cut of the profits. You still outrank him.”

Lucy looked over at Wyatt, trailing her fingernails slowly up his arm, across his cheek. “Is this why?” she asked, her tone still deceptively light. “Because he got the one thing I’m well aware many of you want?”

Wyatt really wasn’t sure how to react to all this.

Then Lucy cupped his already-stiff cock and kissed him, and all he could do was react. He kissed her back, the response instinctive by now, as she lightly massaged him through his pants, making them unbearably tight, her tongue stealing the very breath from his mouth.

She gave his cock a final squeeze, biting at his lip, and then turned back around. Her eyes glittered like steel. “Am I what they promised you? Wouldn’t be the first time my family offered me as a prize.” Her heels clicked on the floor as she walked towards Flynn and Jansen. Jansen’s eyes were horribly wide, his face white, looking the kind of horrified that Wyatt had only ever seen on people who had their worst truth found out.

Lucy braced herself on Jansen’s forearms. Her smile was deadly. “You should have read your Bible, Jansen. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife.”

The last words were sharp as a blade, and Wyatt knew in that moment that Jansen was most definitely not going to make it out of this alive. Lucy looked over at Flynn, gave the slightest of nods, then turned around and walked back to Wyatt.

He understood her outfit now—the red lipstick he could feel smeared on his mouth, the nails that highlighted her fingers dragging over his body, the tight dress that showed exactly what Jansen would never, ever be allowed to have.

She gave Wyatt a kiss on the cheek, then sat back down and returned to reading her book as Flynn dealt another spectacular punch to Jansen’s battered face. Flynn hit him one, two, three more times, blood scattering across the tarp, and Wyatt couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be the next one there, if he would be in Jansen’s place if Lucy and Garcia found him out, if—

“He’s unconscious,” Flynn said.

Lucy put the bookmark in and snapped her book closed. “That’ll be all for now, then. Have Ben and Ivan get him ready for transport.”

She stood up and Flynn walked over to Wyatt, unwinding the tie from around his knuckles, the blue now stained with thick, dark red. Flynn pulled out a handkerchief and took Wyatt’s chin in his hand, carefully wiping off Wyatt’s mouth.

“Lipstick,” he explained quietly, his voice like gravel. He ran his thumb along Wyatt’s lips, and Wyatt couldn’t help the low whine that escaped him, those hands that had just dealt near-lethal blows now gentle and careful as they touched and held him.

“Boys,” Lucy called. “We’ll be late. We have a demonstration to make.”

“And yet, she never lets me get to a meeting on time,” Flynn murmured, brushing his mouth against Wyatt’s, his tongue flicking out to tease against the seam of Wyatt’s lips. “Guess we’ll save this for later.”

Then he was walking away and Wyatt was so dizzy with lust, with worry, his wires all crossed, that he had to brace himself against the table as his legs went numb.

Holy shit. Just, on every level, holy shit.

 

* * *

 

She’d failed to act once, and it had cost her the only person in the world she’d cared about.

Lucy had suspected for years what the ‘family business’ really was. Rittenhouse was old school, and they tended to take after the older mafioso in that they had no problem being bold as brass about what they did, so long as the paper trail wasn’t something the feds could catch onto.

When she had turned eighteen, though, Carol had taken her to talk with her uncle Nicholas, and they’d had a nice chat about how she was the heir, and how someday all this would be hers, and how family was the most important thing.

“What about Amy?” she’d asked.

Amy was only her half-sister, something she’d known for a while. Her father, Benjamin Cahill of the Cahill family, had been mafia from Ireland and had quite a few politicians and industrialists dangling from strings. He’d been a political marriage to Carol, and he’d died when Lucy was five, in ways she’d never had fully explained to her. Carol had remarried a year later to Henry, the man who raised Lucy, the one she still called Dad in her heart. He’d been an upstanding man from old family money and Carol had used him to pass herself off as a socialite and charity donor. Amy had been born when Lucy was seven. Henry had died of lung cancer from chain-smoking with Lucy was seventeen.

Carol had looked over at her older brother. Nicholas had sighed in what he probably thought was a paternal manner. “Lucy, Amy’s not like us. She’s not full blood. You’ll understand someday. And anyway you’re the oldest, just like I am. That means you inherit the way I did.”

Lucy hadn’t wanted to inherit this, this violence and bloodshed, these secret wars and back deals, these political bribes and shadow realms where the government and corporations and criminal families all sat at the same tables and took advantage of everyone else and then pretended not to recognize each other in the light of day. But she’d seen no way out of it and, well, if she inherited, at least Amy could be her lieutenant, the way Carol was for Nicholas.

But Amy had a fire that Lucy had lacked, back then. She’d known that her sister wanted out. Back in the day Lucy had wanted to join a band, get to sing—the only thing she enjoyed in those days—and tour the world. Amy had just wanted to go wherever the wind took her, so it had sounded like a great idea. Play gigs in bars and pubs and clubs, earn enough money for the hostel and the plane ticket when they got sick of Tokyo or Dublin or Casablanca, and onto the next country, next city, next adventure.

Lucy had said no. She could still picture the conversation, in the bathroom, standing over the sink, their voices hushed.

“If you find a way out,” Lucy had whispered, “then I’ll go with you. But you know we can’t just cut and run. They’ll find us. It has to be good. We have to make sure they can’t ever get to us again. Mom’ll kill us otherwise.”

She hadn’t been sure even then if she’d been talking literally or figuratively.

Amy had gotten angry. “I’ll find a way out. Just you fucking wait. With or without your help. We’re going to be on a plane to Buenos Aires and you’re going to be begging me to forgive you.”

Maybe, if she’d offered to help, Amy wouldn’t have gone to Emma. Or maybe she would’ve gone to Emma instead, and she would be the one dead and Amy would be in her place. She didn’t think Amy and Garcia would’ve fallen in love—they were alike in the wrong ways for that—but they would’ve made a hell of a team.

But there was one thing she’d learned, no matter how much she wished it was otherwise: the past couldn’t be rewound. Time was drops of amber, and once it was frozen, it was preserved but it couldn’t be undone. It was part of why she'd turned to history, she supposed, after Amy's death. Perhaps a part of her was searching for a way to go back.

Amy had searched for a way out. Someone to help them. And she’d found Emma Whitmore, the shiny new security expert working her way up through the ranks in Rittenhouse. A favorite of Nicholas’s and Carol’s new big annoyance, Emma’s star rose perhaps too quickly for Amy to not get suspicious.

She did a little digging and found that Emma Whitmore was also a cadet at the New York Police Academy.

A mole.

Amy had gone to Emma and begged for help. She would turn state’s witness in exchange for Emma using her connections to get Amy and Lucy out.

Lucy knew why Amy hadn’t said both sisters would turn state’s witness: if the family retaliated afterwards, they’d only go after Amy that way.

She’d been the little sister, and yet, she’d done all the protecting.

Emma had agreed but had said that she needed to get Amy out alone separately from Lucy, since Amy was the one turning witness. Amy had promised that Lucy didn’t know about this, which should have been Amy’s first clue that something was wrong, but Amy had been twenty years old and young and had still believed in the good inside people’s hearts.

And then Emma had turned her over to Nicholas.

Rittenhouse was known for playing the long game—it was how they’d survived for so long, all the way back from being, or so it was rumored, smugglers for both sides in the Revolutionary War—and they’d planted Emma, and who knew how many others, in the police as sleeper agents. Survive the academy, they were told, and they’d pass their test. They didn’t have Rittenhouse bloodlines but that would prove their loyalty and they’d be welcomed back as full members into the fold. Emma was the most ambitious by far, and when she’d learned that there was an undercover operation planned to infiltrate Rittenhouse, she’d found a way to volunteer for it.

A triple agent. What could be better?

Lucy could still remember being summoned into the meeting room to find her mother sitting there, pale and clearly unhappy but determined.

“Tried to run,” she’d said.

“We have to make an example out of everyone.”

“We make no exceptions.”

“She was only half blood,” Nicholas had said, as if that would matter at all to Lucy. As if anything mattered now.

“Who shot her,” she’d demanded. “Who shot my baby sister.”

Carol had looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. “Emma.”

“It was what she had to do,” Nicholas had added. “The most important thing here is family. For Amy to betray us like that—”

“And to try and drag you down with her—”

“She clearly wasn’t family at all.”

“Can I see her?” Lucy had asked. “Can I at least see her?”

Carol had shaken her head. “I don’t think that’s wise. You shouldn’t have to see her like that.”

Something black and furious and thirsty, with deep, deep roots, had sprouted in Lucy’s heart. Something she hadn’t known she was even capable of feeling.

That night, she’d slipped out and gone to Flynn’s. And she’d made a promise to Amy:

She’d kill them all, no matter what it took.

And she was never, ever going to fail to act to protect anyone she loved, ever again. No matter how violent, how bloody, how awful. She would keep the people she loved safe. And if that made her a monster, well.

At least everyone knew better than to attack a monster’s family.

 

* * *

 

To Wyatt’s surprise, he was told to wear something casual to the meeting.

He showed up in a plaid shirt, white t shirt underneath, and jeans, only to stop short when he saw that everyone else was dressed casually as well.

There was also a thing of tarp laid down at the foot of the table, and another panel of it stuck to the wall.

Lucy and Flynn entered, and Wyatt knew he wasn’t the only one whose eyes bugged out. Lucy was wearing tight, expensive jeans, a bright green top, and a chic blazer, a gold locket that Wyatt had never seen before hanging from her neck. Her hair was loose and her makeup was minimal.

Flynn, on the other hand, was wearing black pants that, ah, really did good things for his ass, and a dark red turtleneck, his hair a little loose and floppy.

The clothes were still nice and stylish, but they might as well have been pajamas. He’d never seen Lucy in anything less than her slinky runway dresses, or Flynn in his bespoke suits.

What was going on here?

Flynn went and sat at his usual place, then beckoned for Wyatt to walk over and stand behind him. Wyatt could feel everyone staring at him. It looked like the Preston-Flynn strategy for someone targeting their favorite runner was to exhibit open defiance.

Lucy stood quietly behind Flynn as usual, her hands in her pockets.

“You must all be wondering why we called such a short notice meeting,” Flynn said. “As some of you know, one of our runners was attacked by Rittenhouse.” He gestured back at Wyatt. “We discovered the man who gave that information up to Rittenhouse and threatened all of us. Ben? Ivan?”

The doors opened and Ben and Ivan came in, carrying Jansen strapped to the chair still. The guy looked even worse now that Flynn’s blows had time to properly bruise, creating a mottled map of purple and blue all over Jansen’s face.

Jansen was awake, duct tape over his mouth. Flynn nodded at Ivan, who ripped it off, making Jansen wince.

“We wanted you all to know what the price is for betraying us,” Flynn said, leaning back and steepling his fingers together. With Wyatt standing behind him as well as Lucy, it was clear what ‘us’ meant. “Jansen could have come to us with the truth when Rittenhouse approached him, but he didn’t. Did you all know that Rittenhouse took his family hostage as collateral after he agreed to help them betray us? Took quite a lot of Ivan’s hard work to get that tidbit out of him. Which reminds me, Steve, please make sure Ivan’s suit gets to the proper cleaners, they were able to get the blood out of my gray Huntsman last month. Thank you.”

Steve scribbled down a note, nodding.

“Now, Jansen, we really wish you’d told us about your family sooner,” Flynn said. “Provoking us really isn’t going to make you any friends. Not with us and not with Rittenhouse. You’ve been caught. Whatever loyalty you thought they owed you, whatever… things, they promised you, it’s all done now.”

Flynn’s gaze didn’t flicker over to Lucy, but Wyatt could tell by the tick in his jaw that he wanted to. Lucy just raised an eyebrow, looking like she was imagining Jansen’s head in a guillotine.

“We could just leave your family to the mercy of Rittenhouse,” Flynn went on, “they’re not our problem, after all, not anymore.”

Jansen blanched. “Please, they had—they’ve got nothing—they’re just, it’s my sister and her kids, please, they don’t even know what I do for a living, they—her husband split, they’ve got no one else—”

Flynn held up his hand. “Luckily we don’t believe in Rittenhouse holding onto any loose ends. They could indoctrinate your charming niece and nephew—what are their names? Sara and Damien? Rittenhouse is rather known for that sort of thing. So we took care of it.”

Jansen yanked at the bonds holding him. “No, you—please, please don’t, they’re innocent in all this, please—”

Lucy looked at Flynn. Flynn sighed. “Your begging won’t do any good. We’ve already taken care of things.”

He nodded at Ben, who walked out of the room and came back a moment later with a small rag doll, suspicious brown stains on it.

“I believe this was Sara’s?” Flynn asked.

Wyatt felt sick. He wanted to ask what the fuck was going on, how two people that he trusted could do this to children, how—but he couldn’t say anything. He didn’t think Flynn and Lucy’s indulgence would extend that far.

Jansen gave a yell of rage that made Flynn flinch slightly. He stood up, pulling a gun smoothly from the small of his back and walking down the table to Jansen. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice almost soothing. “You’ll see them again soon.”

He fired the bullet straight between Jansen’s eyes.

Lucy let out a shaky breath. “Jiya, please go and fetch Ms. Harmon and the kids? Ben, Ivan, clean that up.”

Jiya got up and hurried from the room as Ben and Ivan took Jansen out of the chair, laid him down on the blood-spattered tarp, and rolled him up in it. Ben then wiped off the chair and took the ropes while Ivan hoisted the body up over his shoulder, and they walked out.

“Everyone,” Lucy said, walking over and lightly bracing her hands on the table, “I’m sure you’re all in a lot of shock. I’d like you all, please, to think of one good thing to say about Jansen. You all knew him for a long time, I’m sure you can think of something.”

The door opened again and Jiya entered—followed by a worried-looking woman and two young kids.

Flynn held out the doll. “We went back to the apartment and found Abigail, Sara. She, ah, fell in some coffee.”

The girl, about five, squealed in joy and ran over, hugging the doll to her. That meant the slightly older boy had to be Damien, and the woman was Jansen’s sister.

Wyatt’s knees buckled with relief and he had to grip the table. Lucy shot him an amused look. The message was plain— _you didn’t really think we’d hurt the kids, did you?_

Flynn walked over to the woman, holding his hand out for her to shake. “Hi, Laura, I’m Garcia. This is my wife, Lucy.”

Lucy walked over, smiling gently. “Jansen was with us for many years, we were horrified to learn about the situation.”

“And you’re sure we can’t…” Laura’s voice broke. “We can’t see the body?”

Lucy took her hands, squeezing gently. “We really think you shouldn’t have to see that. But he only wanted to take care of you. That’s what you need to remember.”

Wyatt understood now why everyone was supposed to dress casual. This way, they didn’t intimidate the civilians. They looked like normal people.

“It’s short notice so we’re sorry that, ah, nobody’s wearing black,” Flynn said, screwing his face up in apology. It was actually kind of dorky, and Wyatt had to smother his smile. “But we thought it might be good for you to hear everyone say a few nice words about your brother.”

“Jiya here has drawn up new identities for all of you,” Lucy said. “We’re putting you on the first flight out this evening, and our bodyguards will be with you the whole time. It’s all taken care of.”

Laura nodded, tears springing into her eyes. “I had no idea that—that Paul would get mixed up in something like this…”

“I know. We’ve run into, ah, the family business thing before. Mafia, you know. Happens whenever a company gets powerful, crime wants a cut,” Flynn said. “We’re sorry we couldn’t have Paul go with you, but we know he’d be glad you all were safe.” He smiled down at Sara, who beamed at him, still holding on tightly to her doll.

Flynn and Lucy moved out of the way as one by one everyone got up—starting with the ever-loyal Karl—and walked up to Laura, murmuring some kind words, telling little anecdotes. She smiled through her tears, nodding, as Sara introduced Abigail to everyone and Damien clung to his mother’s leg.

“You thought we’d killed the kids, didn’t you?” Flynn asked quietly, walking up to Wyatt.

“I—you were very convincing.”

Flynn shook his head, looking back at the family. “Jansen betrayed us. He bargained for a woman like she was an object. We had to punish him.”

“Had to, but didn’t want to,” Wyatt guessed, knowing he was going out on a limb here.

Flynn looked back at him, his eyes sad. “No. But mercy has no place in this world, Wyatt. You want to be merciful with one hand, you have to crush with the other hand. We wanted Jansen’s family safe… so we had to make an example out of him.”

Lucy was talking to Laura now, showing her a picture on the inside of the locket. “I lost my sister, Amy, years ago,” she was saying. “It never quite gets easy, I know.”

Flynn shot an adoring look over at Lucy. “It messed her up, what Jansen did,” he said quietly. “Rittenhouse will never stop being furious she got away.”

“I wouldn’t let anyone touch her,” Wyatt promised, surprised at the fury in his voice.

Flynn wrapped his hand around the back of Wyatt’s neck, his thumb rubbing at the soft skin just behind Wyatt’s ear. “I know. I trust you to help me keep her safe.”

Lucy and Laura hugged, and then Jiya ushered the family out.

The moment the door closed, Lucy’s demeanor changed back into the one that Wyatt knew—the cool, sophisticated leader. “Flynn and I will be back,” she said. “Sit down and behave yourselves.”

Flynn gave Wyatt’s shoulder a squeeze and then turned to follow Lucy. Wyatt hovered, unsure if he should sit and if so, where. The only empty seat was Flynn’s at the head of the table, and he was damn sure that sitting there would cause a riot.

A few uncomfortable minutes passed as everyone looked at one another, nobody daring to say anything. The only comfortable one appeared to be Karl, who as usual seemed so absolutely done with everything that nothing could rattle him anymore.

When Flynn and Lucy reappeared, they’d changed.

Lucy was now in her usual style, sporting a pale silver-blue dress, her eye and lip makeup dramatic as always, glittering heels on her feet and diamonds dangling from her ears, no locket in sight. Flynn was in another suit, his tie a slightly darker shade than Lucy’s dress.

Talk about a power move. Now they were dressed to the nines while everyone else was still in casual wear. There was no doubt who in the room was in charge here.

“I think everyone’s learned their lesson,” Lucy said, her voice crisp. “We were able to rescue some innocent people this time. We won’t always be so fortunate. And I’m sure you’d all hate to be in Jansen’s position, wondering if we’re lying or if your family really is dead. No guarantees, you know. And while we all like to say we’re noble, I’m sure the thought of your family safe as you die horribly isn’t really enough to comfort everyone, is it? I think most of you would prefer to be alive.” She cocked her head, meeting each person’s eyes in turn. “So. You get approached by Rittenhouse, or anyone, you tell us. We will help you. But if you betray us… you know where your story ends.”

There was a chorus of hasty and mumbled “yes ma’am”s from the group.

“Very good. Schedules will proceed as normal. You are all dismissed.”

Everyone got up and filed out, nobody daring to talk or even make eye contact. Karl was last. He paused in front of Lucy and Flynn, nodding at each of them in a silent reaffirmation of his respect, and then walked out, closing the door behind him.

Lucy sank into the nearest chair. Flynn put his hands on her shoulders, massaging gently. “You did well.”

“Amy,” Wyatt blurted out. “She—is she real?”

Lucy looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Yes,” she whispered. She reached down into her dress—into her bra, Wyatt realized—and pulled out the locket. She passed it over to him. “Amy was very, very real.”

He opened the locket to see a dark blonde girl with big brown eyes staring up at him, smiling, her arms around a younger Lucy.

“Seven year age difference,” Lucy said, taking the locket as he handed it back to her. “She always counted on me to protect her.” She slid the locket back into her bra, and Wyatt wondered if she always hid it there, right next to her heart, the truth beneath all the many masks that Lucy Preston wore. “I failed her.”

“You didn’t,” Flynn replied, kissing the top of her head. He looked over at Wyatt. “Amy tried to leave the family. She failed.”

“So I left. Allied myself with Flynn. I figured I was dead anyway.” She reached up, pressing her palm to Flynn’s cheek. “The rest is history.”

“I’m sorry,” Wyatt said, two words that were so inadequate for all that he was feeling and yet the only words he could think of. He was realizing the depth to which Lucy and Flynn were trapped, the misery that they concealed, the hopelessness and heartbreak that they only kept at bay by loving each other as intensely as they possibly could. If their relationship wasn’t as strong, if they weren’t as in love—Wyatt wondered if either of them would have still been standing by now. "Sorry for doubting that it was—that Amy was—I'm sorry."

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t apologize,” Lucy smiled at him, holding out her hand.

Wyatt walked over, taking it. Lucy squeezed his fingers. “It’s not your fault.”

“You—” Flynn looked away, his jaw clenching, then looked back. “You’re a silver lining.”

“I’m glad I can be,” Wyatt replied, guilt weighing him down.

If he came clean to them—would they really be merciful? The way they’d promised to the others just now? He wanted to tell them but fear gripped his throat and held him back.

And he realized, more than ever, that he was necessary to them. They couldn’t order takeout, or just go to the movies, or walk around in their pajamas, or just, just _be_.

But Wyatt could help them do some of those things.

“I’m tired,” Lucy said, looking up at Flynn. “Can we have a night in? Ignore the paperwork, just this once?”

“I’ll pick up some Chinese food,” Wyatt said. He didn’t have a sophisticated image to maintain.

Flynn nodded. “Yes. I think—I think we all need that.”

He helped Lucy to her feet, and passed Wyatt some cash for the takeout. “Stay safe,” he said quietly, kissing Wyatt’s temple.

“I will.”

Lucy wound her arms around his neck and kissed him softly. “Don’t take too long, pretty boy.”

Wyatt watched as Flynn put his arm around Lucy and led her out of the room, and then he sank into a chair, too.

It wasn’t like a lightning bolt. It wasn’t a tsunami. It was more like acknowledging something that had been there all along. He just hadn’t wanted to look at it.

Wyatt ran a shaky hand through his hair. His heart felt like lead.

He couldn’t give them up. He couldn’t help take them down.

The burner phone in his pocket buzzed and he jumped right out of the chair. He opened it.

A text message from ‘Solo’—Rufus you nerd—blinked up at him.

_Bug picked up your bedroom fun._

Another text arrived.

_I have to tell Denise._

And then a third.

_But wanted to warn you first. Think up a good excuse, buddy._

And finally:

_I’m sorry._

Wyatt’s stomach twisted.

Oh, fuck.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt went to get takeout because what the hell else was he supposed to do. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t—his mind was a blank.

He couldn’t possibly ask Rufus to delete the footage, could he? Rufus had said he had to tell Denise and Rufus was true to his word, and, well, Rufus could be prevailed upon to break rules but not without good reason. And Wyatt didn’t think “but I’m in love with them” was a good enough reason when the “them” in question were “the morally gray pair of criminal masterminds that I’ve started fucking.”

He got to their favorite Chinese place—because they had a favorite Chinese place now, yup, that was a thing—and got in line to order when he felt someone tap his shoulder.

He glanced behind him, saw Denise, and immediately had to stifle his instinct to freak out.

“I take it Rufus told you,” he said, turning back around to face front.

“I hope you understand he felt conflicted,” Denise replied. “But you know that in a mission like this there’s not really a line between your private and your business life.”

Wyatt exhaled slowly, forcing himself to keep breathing normally. “I know.”

They moved up the line.

“You’re compromised, Logan. Sleeping with the marks was never the job.”

“They came onto me, all right?”

“Did they keep you from saying no?” Denise’s voice was quiet but alarmed. “Was your consent—”

“N-no, no ma’am, it was with my full consent.” Jesus Christ.

Denise went quiet for a moment. “I understand that they’re both very charismatic people. And attractive. But…”

She cut herself off as Wyatt went up and ordered, then followed him to a table as he waited for the food to be ready. “But they’re still criminals, Wyatt. Look at me.”

He looked up at her. “You might think that they care about you. You might even think that they love you, and that you love them. But at the end of the day, they will choose their own safety over your life. I’ve seen it happen too many times, to good people under my command and in the command of others. Don’t throw your life away for them.”

“I’m getting good information this way,” Wyatt replied, scrambling for the one thread that could save him. “They leave me alone in the apartment. Lu—Preston has me help her with paperwork.”

“And why haven’t you sent any of this to me?”

“I was…” Wyatt had never been more aware of how shit he was at lying on the spot. “Ashamed, ma’am, of admitting how I came to get this information. I knew I’d get in trouble with you for it and I knew it was against the rules.”

“So you’re telling me that when they… propositioned you, you saw an opportunity.”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s exactly what happened. I didn’t mean to start anything but they took a liking to me and I’ve earned their trust. That’s all.”

Denise looked skeptical, but then Wyatt’s order was called. He stood up. “That’s our dinner. They’ll worry if I’m gone for too long.” Because that was what they did—they worried about him. They cared about his safety.

…didn’t they?

Denise sighed. “As you say, Logan. I’ll be in touch. Stay careful.”

Wyatt nodded at her, then turned to get his food and pay.

When he turned around again, she was gone.

 

* * *

 

The next couple of weeks passed without incident and Wyatt was just about convinced that he’d dodged a bullet. He’d sent Denise some photos of paperwork Lucy left out, stuff that was important but not _too_ important, just to prove that he was doing his job still.

He couldn’t stay in this limbo forever. He was well aware of that, thanks. But he had to come up with another solution.

He knew that Flynn and Lucy had some sort of new plan cooking with Rittenhouse. Lucy had started having late night phone calls in the bathroom about once a week for the past couple of months, crying and whispering. Flynn would either be in there with her or pacing outside.

Afterwards Lucy would always emerge and fuck Flynn hard as she could, looking into his face the whole time, her mouth open on tiny little gasps as she told him to hold her tighter, fuck her faster, their eyes trained on each other like nothing else in the world mattered.

When Wyatt asked what was up, Flynn just shook his head. “If we knew how to talk about it,” he said, “we’d tell you.”

Wyatt supposed there were just some things that were so intertwined between them, so secret and so deeply rooted, that exposing them to someone else was like exposing a night plant to the harsh glare of the sun.

The point was, though, that something was coming to a head, and Denise wasn’t going to wait forever, and he had to think of something, but he didn’t know _what_ , and then—

Then he got a phone call while he was down at the car garage.

A call on his burner cell, the police assigned one, the one he was never supposed to place or receive calls from unless it was really, really bad.

He answered it. “Hello?”

“You’re being pulled.” Dave spoke in a rush. “She’s pulling you next week, Monday, she said not to tell you because you’ve been compromised.”

“What? Dave, why—” Why was he telling Wyatt this?

“Because I heard some of the surveillance,” Dave answered. “Rufus sent it to me. Said he wasn’t sure if he’d done the right thing telling Denise, that he wanted me to hear you interacting with them. They make you happy, Wyatt. I haven’t heard you that way since Jess died. And if they—look maybe this makes me, I don’t know, one of the bad guys but if they make you that happy then fuck it, run away to Jamaica together, y’know? Wyatt?”

“Yeah, I’m, I’m here.”

“So, I don’t know, you have a few days, figure something out. Okay? And if anyone asks I didn’t tell you.”

Wyatt wished like anything that Dave was in front of him so that he could hug him. “Man I—Dave—I owe you so big for this.”

“Yeah, yeah, send me some flowers or something. Stay frosty man.”

“Yeah, you too. Stay safe.”

Wyatt hung up.

Denise was pulling him.

She was pulling him, and he’d have had no warning. He would’ve been just… just gone. Lucy and Flynn would’ve lost another person without knowing exactly what happened, or why. Denise had contacts all over the place, she probably would have him reassigned outside of the goddamn state to keep him away from them, he’d have no chance to contact them and let them know he was alive.

Thank God for Dave. Wyatt wasn’t always sure he believed in a higher power but in that moment he didn’t know who else to thank, so… whoever was responsible for that honorable son of a bitch, all the thanks to them.

Wyatt had no plan, not even a hint of one, but the time for coming up with plans was clearly over. He didn’t know what was waiting for him, how Lucy and Flynn would react, but he had to take the chance.

He got up to the apartment and nearly bumped into Karl, who was on his way out. “Sorry, man.”

“No problem,” Karl replied, even-toned as ever. Did that guy ever show an emotion?

Wyatt saluted at Ben and Ivan, who were playing a card game and barely looked up at him—used to Wyatt’s comings and goings by now since he, y’know, lived here—and Wyatt continued on into the apartment proper and towards the office.

When he entered the room, Lucy was standing with her hands splayed and braced on the desk. Flynn was sitting, his hands clasped, his mouth tight.

Wyatt paused. Clearly something was wrong. The two of them probably always looked tense to everyone else but Wyatt had learned to see when they were really rigid and when they were just in control. In here, though, in their little apartment they were almost always relaxed, so this was… concerning, to say the least.

They looked up when he entered, and Lucy’s eyes went sharp and dark and sad with pain, and Wyatt knew, instinctively, that they knew. How, he wasn’t sure yet, but somehow—they knew the truth.

“I… there’s something I have to tell you.”

“I’m sure there is,” Flynn said, his voice soft, dangerous.

Lucy turned and leaned back against the desk, still gripping it, like it was the only thing keeping her from being pulled out to sea.

“You know, don’t you? Someone—someone told you.”

“You know, we do background checks on everyone,” Flynn said, “but documents detailing undercover work, those are a bit harder to find.”

Wyatt knew it was coming, but it still made his stomach drop out to hear it.

“Lucky for us, Karl’s tenacious.”

“And protective,” Lucy said quietly. “You wouldn’t know it to talk to him but he’s very protective of us.”

“Maybe we should’ve slept with him instead,” Flynn said, his voice dry and cutting. Wyatt flinched in spite of himself.

“I came here to tell you.”

“To tell us? To confess?” Flynn stood up as Lucy wiped at her eyes. God, Wyatt’s heart felt like it was being slowly ripped out of him. “To try and spin your story the way you wanted before Karl could tell us? You’re here as a plant, to take us down, Master Sergeant.”

“Garcia—”

“Get out.” Flynn’s voice was quiet but he might as well have screamed for all the rage packed into those two words.

Wyatt swallowed hard, glancing over at Lucy, but she wasn’t looking at him.

He turned and walked away.

 

* * *

 

They summoned him to the office two days later. He hadn’t told Denise that they knew the truth about him, which he supposed could be considered an oversight. But it wasn’t like Denise could up the date to pull him.

“Logan.” Flynn’s voice was cool, contained, like he’d never once whispered dark and soft in Wyatt’s ear, like he’d never held Wyatt tightly through the night, like Wyatt had never made him laugh so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. “We’ve made contact with your boss. Agent Christopher, was it?”

“If you know I’m undercover, then you know who I work for.”

“She was very frustrated to hear that we’d found you out,” Lucy said. “Frustrated, but not surprised. Seems she probably suspected you’d be compromised one way or another. Tell me, does she know? Hmm?” Lucy walked up to him, stalking around him like a hungry tiger. “Does she know you were our little toy? Our plaything? Did she tell you to bend over for us or was that just how desperate you were?”

“Is there a point to these questions other than humiliation?”

“The point is that you’re still ours,” Lucy replied, her voice like a blade. “And we decide what to do with you, not her. And we’ve decided an exchange is in order. Things are clearly getting too hot for us here. So we’re meeting her at the airport, with you. We release you to her, she lets us go.”

“Bad publicity if it’s found out she let you die, and we will make sure the public finds out,” Flynn added.

“She’ll never agree to this.”

“Oh, she has to. Especially when she learns Rittenhouse will be there.” Lucy’s smile was that of a viper. “That’s right. I’ve been reaching out to dear darling Mother. She thinks I’m scared of Flynn.” Lucy looked over her shoulder at the man in question, her gaze soft and fond. “As if he could ever scare me.”

That explained all the late-night phone calls and fake crying, then, and the savage, possessive way that Lucy had fucked Flynn afterwards.

She blew her husband a kiss, then turned back to Wyatt. “But Mother’s willing to believe anything if it fits her worldview. Once your Agent Christopher sees that Rittenhouse is there as well… two such big birds, one stone… she’ll have to make them a priority. With their whole ridiculous family blood nonsense the feds have had quite a lot of trouble getting a mole in. The last one was Emma Whitmore and she turned quite badly, didn’t she?”

“I would’ve thought you’d hate to bring up the woman who killed your sister.”

Lucy slapped him—lightly, but enough to make it clear she could have done much worse damage if she’d wanted to. “I like your mouth when it’s between my legs, doesn’t mean I want it anywhere else.”

Flynn looked like he was holding in some amusement at that.

“So. You be a good boy, and come with us, and you’ll survive this. Your boss gets you back safely, you turn witness and get a few of our underlings, Rittenhouse is captured in the raid, Flynn and I get away… it’s a real win-win situation.”

Wyatt looked from one to the other, swallowing. “How do I know you won’t kill me?”

“You have my word,” Lucy replied, her voice soft but her eyes hard, no longer Lucy but Preston, the right-hand Petrov woman, the leader of legions.

“How can I trust your word?”

“How can we trust you at all?” she countered.

Fair enough.

Wyatt nodded. “Looks like I don’t have much of a choice, anyway.”

“Good.” Lucy patted his cheek. “I knew you’d see my way of doing things. Most people do, eventually.”

 

* * *

 

The car ride was silent. Wyatt sat in the back, Karl driving, Flynn and Lucy next to him. Normally it would be an opportunity to cuddle, to talk in low voices with their heads bent together, for Lucy to sprawl out between them and on top of them.

Not this time.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the airport warehouse. Wyatt looked out the window—he couldn’t see anyone.

His clothes felt heavy, discomforting. He wished he had his gun on him.

Flynn reached down, grabbing Wyatt’s wrist and yanking his arm behind his back, pressing the gun to his head.

No words were needed. Wyatt knew what he meant.

Wyatt opened the car door with his free hand and got out, Flynn’s gun pressing into his skin the whole time.

He was marched forward, Lucy at Flynn’s side, into the warehouse.

An older blonde woman, a brunet man about her age, and Emma Whitmore all stood in the warehouse, looking impatient. Emma Whitmore looked about as cold as her picture. No, even colder.

“Lucy?” The blonde, that had to be Carol Preston, looked surprised. “What—who is this? What’s going on here?”

“Christopher,” Flynn called. “How’re Michelle and the kids? Doing well I hope? They’re in high school now, aren’t they?”

There was a pause, and then Denise emerged—with a team, and Dave.

Wyatt’s heart thumped. Oh, man, he hadn’t thought about Dave. The poor guy looked horribly worried. Fuck.

“Got something for you,” Flynn said.

“More than just what you promised me,” Denise replied. “I heard your little talk with Logan here. Seems you’re luring more than just me to this place.”

“The fuck,” Emma snarled. “You sold us out, princess. I knew it, I told you—she’s never been loyal, just like her sister—”

“You watch your mouth,” Lucy hissed.

Flynn tightened his hold on Wyatt, pressing the gun more firmly against his temple. “Careful, Christopher, don’t want your prize boy to get hurt. My trigger finger’s real twitchy lately.”

“Let him go, Flynn, and you just might walk away from this,” Denise said.

“Are we surrounded?” Nicholas demanded. “Is that really what you think is going on here?”

“I mean, I won’t say no to rounding you three up,” Denise said.

“Lucy!” Carol Preston was the personification of a furious mother. “Lucy you promised—you said—”

“I _lied_ ,” Lucy shot back, her hands balling into fists. “And you wanted to see it so badly—you thought, what, after five years that I’d suddenly decided I was scared?”

“Abusive relationships—it can take time for you to see them for what they are—you sent me texts for months—phone calls—”

“And you were trying to gaslight me during them, Mother, did it ever occur to you that maybe Flynn was listening the whole time? That you were on speaker? That I was lying to you? All those years I told you the truth and you never once listened to me but the moment I start feeding you a half assed lie—” Lucy’s fury was reaching a boiling point.

“Stay calm, my darling, it’ll be all right.” Flynn glared at Denise. “All right, I’ll let him go on the count of three. He’ll start walking. Any one of you tries to fire at me or my wife, I’ll have my sniper take him out. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” Denise indicated Emma and the Prestons. “Hands up where we can see them.”

Flynn let go of Wyatt but kept the gun pointed at him. “One… two…”

People began firing from the sides. Lucy screamed. Wyatt caught a flash of red hair and heard Flynn roar, “Emma!”

“You thought we wouldn’t bring our own team, Princess?” Emma shot back through the hail of bullets. It was madness, everyone firing everywhere, a tornado.

He grabbed the gun from Flynn, twisting Flynn’s wrist until Flynn had to drop it. He kicked Flynn in the sternum and then started to run, bullets whizzing by his ears, Denise yelling orders…

He could see Emma holding up Carol, Nicholas at her feet bleeding from a headshot. “Really, Lucy?” Emma Whitmore snapped. “Here’s your reconciliation!”

She fired into Carol from behind, through her back and her stomach.

Lucy gave a scream of rage, but Emma was far too focused on her chosen enemy and didn’t see Dave until he was tackling her, wrestling her to the ground. Emma fought like a cornered alley cat but she was pinned good and proper, and Dave started reading her the Miranda Rights as he cuffed her.

Wyatt stumbled back as a bullet landed right by his feet. Fuck, okay, he had to back up, he had to get enough distance—

Flynn lunged for him, fury in his eyes, Wyatt’s instincts took over—

He fired twice, right into Flynn’s chest.

Flynn went down.

Wyatt dropped the gun, his hands shaking. He’d—he’d just done it, he’d—he’d shot him, fuck, blood was spilling out onto the dirty concrete floor, he’d—he’d—

“You bastard!” Lucy screamed, the sound ripped out of her. Her makeup was running, messy black streaks spilling down her face. She darted forward and grabbed Flynn’s gun. “You snake bastard!”

She fired three times in rapid succession, right at Wyatt’s chest. Blood spurted out and he staggered, falling forward. Lucy tried to fire again but the gun clicked uselessly and she sobbed in fury and anguish, throwing the gun to the side. She started to shake Flynn as Wyatt felt the blood seeping out, until he was lying in a puddle of it.

“Garcia.” Lucy shook him again and again. “Garcia _please_ , please, darling please don’t leave me—don’t leave me—”

Wyatt could see Karl giving silent commands to the rest of his team to advance. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a gurgle.

“Shit!” Dave yelled, running for him, but then someone fired at his feet and he stumbled back, returning fire. “Wyatt!”

“Baumgardner you stay behind the line!”

“It’s a chest wound ma’am he still might be alive!”

Wyatt watched as Karl grabbed Lucy around the waist, causing her to shriek and claw for Flynn’s body. “No!” She bucked, uncaring of the bullets flying around her, some of them definitely aimed at her. “Garcia!”

Karl knew his job, though—and his job was protect Lucy at all costs. It was what Flynn would’ve wanted.

He carried her around the corner, behind some crates, and she was gone.

Wyatt let his eyes fall closed as the gunfire raged around him. “Fall back!” Denise was yelling. “We have Whitmore, Flynn’s down, that’s good enough.”

“What about—”

“I’m not risking another man for someone who’s already dead, Baumgardner, fall. Back. That’s an _order_.”

The blood was all spread underneath him now, oddly warm. He could taste it in his mouth, feel it sticky under his arm.

The sounds of battle, the yelling, everything faded.

And then all was silence.

 

 

* * *

  

_Two Days Earlier_

 

Wyatt swallowed hard, glancing over at Lucy, but she wasn’t looking at him.

He turned and walked away.

He got to the front door—and stopped.

If he’d had just one more minute with Jess, just one more second, to tell her how much he loved her, he would’ve taken it. He hadn’t been there for her, he hadn’t done anything to stop what had happened—and while he’d learned to stop blaming himself, he’d be damned if he made the same mistake again and didn’t fight for the people he loved.

He turned around and stormed back, startling the other two. Lucy was now sitting on the desk and Flynn had his arm around her shoulders, most likely comforting her. Flynn let out a kind of growl when he saw Wyatt. “I thought I told you—”

“I’m not leaving,” Wyatt snapped. “I’m not leaving either of you. I’m staying right here and we’re working this out.”

“Don’t you understand?” Flynn snarled, storming over to him. He grabbed Wyatt’s shoulders, shaking him a little. “When the truth comes out, I cannot protect you. Lucy can’t protect you. I told you, Wyatt, I told you mercy has no place in this world and neither of us can—if they see us forgive you they will send the dogs after us, do you understand? If you’d come to us earlier we could’ve done something, strategized, but now, now Karl knows and everyone else will know soon and I can’t save you!”

He practically shoved Wyatt away from him, striding over towards the window.

Wyatt swallowed. “Garcia.”

Flynn didn’t even turn around.

Wyatt looked at Lucy. “My boss is gonna try to pull me. Take me away. That’s why I came to tell you. Not because—I didn’t know about Karl, about what he’d found, all right? I—I love you. I don’t want to leave you, either of you.”

Lucy’s mouth tightened. She looked over at Flynn, who was still staring out the window as if it fascinated him.

“You don’t believe me, you and Flynn. For God’s sake.” He walked over to her.

“I want to believe you,” Lucy replied.

“Then believe me, please.” He reached out, starting to take her hand.

“Don’t touch her,” Flynn said, his tone conversational and yet deadlier than Wyatt had ever heard it. The guy didn’t even look away from the window.

“I’m not some delicate flower,” Lucy reminded her husband gently. But she still pulled away from Wyatt, towards the coffee maker.

“There has to be something. Some way I can—I can prove to you that I’m loyal. I mean, fuck, I’m not supposed to get this close to you—”

“How do we know that?” Flynn demanded, turning back around. “How do we know you haven’t used us, that you haven’t been sneaking photos or copying documents to the feds—”

“I haven’t!” Wyatt yelled, feeling his eyes getting wet and hating himself for it. “Search me, search my phone, all my shit’s here anyway so search that, I never gave them anything. It’s why my boss is pulling me, she knows, she _knows_ I—that I, I got in too deep, fuck, Garcia I love you what else do you need me to say?”

“I need you to not lie to us!” Flynn practically roared.

“And what was I supposed to do? Huh? If I told you the truth in the beginning you would’ve killed me and if I told you by the time I earned your trust you would’ve killed me for betraying it.”

“Did Jansen teach you nothing?” Flynn hissed. “He was tapped by Rittenhouse. It happens. Rival families, rival organizations, they try to poach on one another all the time but if he’d come to us, if he’d appealed to us we would have helped him. We could have spun it as a sign of his loyalty that he wouldn’t betray us, that he trusted us enough to come clean. I can’t work with this, Wyatt!”

“So you’re going to beat my ass and then shoot me in front of everyone, huh? That’s how it’s gonna go?”

“Right now I just might beat your ass here and be done with it if you don’t shut that smart mouth.”

“Then do it. Fucking do it, because I’d rather have that than go away.” Wyatt didn’t move, didn’t look away from Flynn’s gaze. “I’m not leaving. I won’t. You have to kill me to prove some bullshit thing, as if you both haven’t already given everything, as if you both haven’t already sacrificed and killed and gone against what I know you both believe in so that you can make it another year, another day, fine. Kill me. But it’s that or forgive me because I’m not leaving.”

“You stubborn goddamn idiot.” Flynn looked like he wanted to laugh at the insanity of it all. “You think we’ve got all the power here? Do you forget who we work for? That we have our own fucking ball and chain to answer to? For my family, for Amy, we sold our souls. Ivan? You think he’s just our bodyguard? He’s our minder, and we highly doubt he’s the only one who’s reporting to the Petrovs for us. We try to get out, we’ll get out all right, we’ll get a bullet between our eyes. You’ve endangered all of us, not just yourself, if they know that we let an undercover cop get this close to us…”

“That’s why we can’t let you go back to the feds,” Lucy said quietly from the coffee maker. Her shaking hands as she scooped in the ground beans was the only sign that she was anything but completely poised. “They’ll find some way to use you to take us down, and for the Petrovs to know we didn’t sniff you out… that you got so close…”

“I won’t let them put you in prison,” Wyatt said quickly. “I won’t.”

Lucy gave a small, choked little laugh. “Very noble of you, given that I wouldn’t survive prison. I set too many Rittenhouse people up there. And if that weren’t enough… my mother wouldn’t allow it but Emma will find a way to get someone to stick a spork shank in me.”

Flynn shuddered like he’d been the one shanked just now. Wyatt could honestly think of no greater punishment to either Lucy or Flynn than having them be separated.

Lucy turned around, a mug in her hand. She smiled, a cold, sad smile. “I’d rather die, honestly. I’d rather die when they try to arrest me than go and be another victory for that—that plague that calls itself a group of people.” She locked eyes with Flynn, the rest of the sentence gone unsaid: _I’d rather die with you than live without you._

Flynn in prison sounded more like a punishment for every other poor bastard stuck in there with him than for Flynn himself, but Wyatt knew he’d go insane trying to find a way to get to Lucy.

Lucy turned away again, busying herself with the machine. Flynn looked over at Wyatt. “And I’m sure you know that if anything happens to her…”

The path of blood that Flynn had carved in Lorena and Iris’s names was legendary. Wyatt couldn’t fathom what would happen if someone dared to take Lucy from him. And once that vengeance was finished… Wyatt knew, somehow, in the very heart of him, that Flynn wouldn’t see much point in sticking around after that.

“Tell me what to do,” he said. “Please, tell me what to do. I won’t—I won’t leave, and I won’t let them take you, I’ll fight them if I have to.”

Lucy gave a little sigh. “So noble, Wyatt. Always ready to throw yourself in front of the gun.”

She poured out the coffee into three mugs. “Garcia. My love.” She took a deep breath, then looked up at her husband. “I think we have to accept that one of us might not get out of this.”

Flynn moved so fast that Wyatt couldn’t even register it, pulling Lucy into him. Lucy reached up, pressing on his shoulder, and Flynn automatically sank down to his knees so that Lucy could cup his face, tenderly brushing the hair out of his eyes. “We have to plan for the worst, remember?”

“Lucy—” Wyatt had never heard Flynn’s voice like this, didn’t know it was capable of sounding like this, utterly broken. Flynn was strong, he was the strongest person Wyatt knew, and yet he held onto Lucy like she was sand slipping through his fingers.

“There’s only one way out of this. That’s if we cause chaos. Listen, darling, the feds will be on us no matter what. They’ll figure out that Wyatt was compromised and they’ll move in rather than risk losing us. Rittenhouse has been getting bolder and so have we. If we force a confrontation—use me as the bait—”

“ _No_.” Flynn’s voice was rough, raw, a mountain shifting, an old god awakening. “We won’t risk you—”

“It’s the only way. I’m the king on the chessboard, Garcia. I always have been. Emma and I have too much history and Mother won’t ever give me up, and I’m third generation, I’m more valuable to the feds than you are, it’s just how it is.” She kissed his forehead. “My darling, I can handle this.”

“You’re not bulletproof,” Flynn snarled, and then he was on his feet again, whirling on Wyatt. “Do you see what you’ve done? What you’re doing?”

“I’m so—”

“If anything happens to her,” Flynn promised him, “anything, Wyatt—”

“Then tell me what to do so it doesn’t happen!” Wyatt shouted. “You love her, God, anyone with a pair of eyes and maybe even some poor assholes without them can see that. And maybe, I don’t know, maybe my love isn’t as big or as deep as yours, I wasn’t there all those years for all that shit but I do love her and if at the end of the day you want me to die for her then I will! You’re not the only one who’d sacrifice for her, Garcia, so please, use me whatever way you need because I refuse to let anything happen to her either.”

“You love someone, you don’t betray them like this!”

“Garcia.” Lucy got between them, her hands up, not quite touching either of them but clearly ready to if that was what it took. “My mother loves me. I truly believe that. It doesn’t stop her from doing what she does, or did, to me.”

“How—”

“She’s tried to apologize, in her own way, over the years.” Lucy looked over at Wyatt. “But I know she doesn’t really understand why she’s apologizing. She’s doing it to placate me, not because she really feels bad.”

“I should’ve told you,” Wyatt said, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry, Lucy I should’ve told you…”

“Shhh.” She took his face in her hands. “I know, baby, and it’s okay. We’re going to work it out.”

He sank his head down, resting his forehead against hers. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

“I wanted to tell you. I was about to tell you, God, so many times, but I’d get so scared, you two were so happy and I didn’t want to ruin that and what if—what if you kicked me out, what if you told me to pack my shit and go, I didn’t…”

“You thought we’d leave you?”

Wyatt looked up at the sound of Flynn’s voice. Flynn looked—wrecked was the first word that came to mind but it didn’t quite encapsulate the expression on his face, the open mouth and bright wide eyes.

Flynn made a choked sort of noise and looked away. “You thought—we let you into our home. Into—into everything. And you didn’t think we’d—I thought you knew, that you had to know, that nobody could possibly be that thick.”

“Maybe I am just that thick,” Wyatt replied, his own voice feeling odd and strangled.

Lucy stepped back out of the way. Flynn gave a kind of wet almost-laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Wyatt you—how many people do you think we’ve had this arrangement with? Hmm? Even—even if they didn’t move in with us, how many people do you think we’ve had in our bed?”

Wyatt opened his mouth, then realized he had nothing to say.

“One.” Flynn raised his eyebrows. “Just the one. Just you. Do you know how many people I slept with before you? Three. My best friend growing up, who was gunned down in front of me, Lorena, and I lost her too, and Lucy. Just those three. I killed a man because he put you in harm’s way and God help me but I enjoyed making him suffer. I would kill anyone who so much as laid a finger on you. I trusted you with my wife, with _Lucy_ —if you think for one second I would’ve fallen asleep around you if I didn’t—that I would’ve let you be alone with her if I didn’t—”

He gave an inarticulate noise of frustration. “ _Words_ ,” he snarled, followed by a stream of Croatian that Wyatt couldn’t make head nor tail of.

“He’s saying ‘fuck’ a lot. And… I gave you my heart on a platter,” Lucy whispered.

Flynn paused, looking over at her. “How did you understand that?”

“You used it in our wedding vows. Except that time you said ‘give’. I just guessed that this time you meant it in the past tense.”

Of course Lucy still had their wedding vows memorized, even wedding vows in another damn language. Flynn managed to look devastated and proud and in love all at once. “That’s my clever girl.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like you ever said it,” Wyatt pointed out, feeling raw and vulnerable and like his own fucking heart had been ripped out and dumped onto a plate. “Neither of you. A guy needs a little verbal affirmation now and again. I know this world it’s—it’s all smoke and mirrors and shadows but fuck’s sake, would it’ve killed you to just say ‘I love you’ once?”

“Maybe it would have,” Flynn snapped.

“So let me get this straight,” Lucy said. “You’re both in love with each other, and I flatter myself to think that I’m part of that equation, and you’ve both been idiots this whole time not saying how you felt, and now you’re both hurt that the other one wasn’t a mind reader and figured it out anyway?”

“Well when you put it like that it sounds stupid,” Wyatt grumbled.

Lucy arched an eyebrow. “C’mon, boys. Aren’t you going to kiss and make up?”

Wyatt wanted to. God, he wanted to so badly. He looked at Flynn, and found Flynn looking at him, almost gobsmacked.

God dammit. He had to stop being a coward. Flynn and Lucy had made all the moves in this relationship and it was about time he made one too.

Wyatt stepped forward, tentatively reaching up, fingering the lapels of Flynn’s jacket. “I love you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you, just please—don’t make me leave you.”

He’d take anything, literally anything else, but not that. He’d done that once already, been separated from someone he loved, and he’d rather be on the other end, he’d rather be the one who died than the one left behind. Maybe it made him selfish but he didn’t care. He just refused to leave them.

Flynn’s hand came up to cradle the back of his head, tenderly, and Wyatt’s eyelids fluttered as he leaned back into that touch—and then Flynn was sealing his mouth over his and stealing the air right out of him.

“If you _ever_ ,” Flynn growled, kissing him savagely, “even think about—”

“I won’t, God, I promise I won’t.” He clawed at Flynn’s chest, his shoulders, trying to get his damn shirt off as Flynn kissed the air right out of his lungs. “I love you, I’m sorry, I’ll never, never again—”

Flynn swallowed the rest of his words, his mouth hot and insistent against Wyatt’s, his arms like a vice around him. His hand moved to the back of Wyatt’s head and tugged on his hair, pulling his head back so that Flynn could bite at his neck.

“Maybe we should keep that collar on you all the time,” Flynn growled, his tongue darting out to soothe the spot he’d just bitten. “Remind you where your loyalties lie.”

“Why, not confident you can do that with just one good fuck?” Wyatt challenged.

He was on his back on the bed faster than he could blink.

Flynn loomed over him, his gaze crawling over Wyatt like he was trying to figure out where to touch him first, and then he was pouncing, his mouth on Wyatt’s lips, his jaw, his neck, biting in places, marking Wyatt up. Wyatt gave as good as he got, yanking and clawing and grabbing hold with both hands, as tightly as he dared and then even more tightly than that.

Someone was adding their hands, Lucy, yanking off both of their clothes, her hair falling around Wyatt’s face like a dark flowing curtain as she kissed him upside down, her tongue diving into his mouth. “We love you,” she whispered, their noses brushing, her hands framing his face. “I’m sorry we didn’t think to say it earlier. We thought we were saying it. We love you so, so much.”

Wyatt pushed himself up to kiss her, and then ended up kissing Flynn again after that somehow, and Flynn’s hands were heavy and demanding on him, urging him to spread his legs and slipping in between and oh, he wasn’t being gentle at all but Wyatt didn’t care, he practically shoved himself onto Flynn’s fingers, wanting to branded by the both of them.

Flynn shifted, and then he was entering him and _fuck_ , the sound Wyatt made didn’t even feel human. “I thought I made it clear,” Flynn growled in his ear, thrusting in short and sharp and making Wyatt claw at his back. “You belong with us, and we belong with you.”

His hand loosely gripped Wyatt’s throat, thumb pressing down on Wyatt’s pulse point for one, two seconds before letting go, a pleased growl working its way out of his throat when Wyatt thrashed in response, his body quickly becoming overwhelmed.

Then Flynn shifted, his mouth right on top of Wyatt’s. “I love you.” The words were shoved into Wyatt’s mouth right before he kissed him, his thrusts getting deeper until Wyatt thought he could feel Flynn at the back of his throat and he was whining pathetically, helplessly around Flynn’s tongue.

“Don’t you dare come yet,” Lucy warned, her voice sweet but commanding. Flynn pulled away to kiss her and Wyatt opened his eyes, his gaze blurry but just enough to see Lucy biting at Flynn’s lips savagely, like she was pouring all of herself into him before she wrenched her mouth away to scatter kisses over Wyatt’s face. “Don’t you dare come, you’re fucking me next, you’re both of ours…”

Flynn all but shoved himself inside and Wyatt moaned, shuddering from head to toe. Flynn was starting to lose his rhythm and Wyatt got his hands on Flynn’s ass, keeping him as much inside of Wyatt as possible, and Flynn’s mouth was right at Wyatt’s ear, whispering, “I love you I love you _volim te_ …” and Wyatt let out a sound he feared was terribly close to a sob and his eyes were wet and he had to bite down on Flynn’s shoulder as he felt Flynn coming inside of him, marking him up, getting him messy and pinning him down and he really didn’t want to ever leave this moment.

Until Lucy was kissing him and gently pushing Flynn back to straddle him and oh, _oh_ fuck, okay, he didn’t want to leave this moment either. This was why, for all of Flynn’s fretting beforehand and all the hours of work it had taken to get her there, he’d liked being inside Lucy the same time Flynn was—it was one of the few ways they could all be connected at the same moment. When he was with Flynn he never wanted to be anywhere else, and when he was with Lucy he never wanted to be anywhere else.

Lucy was tight, a little tighter than normal, and he suspected she’d under-prepped herself that day. He wanted to object, worried, but he knew she’d be pissed at him and well, given that he’d welcomed Flynn stretching him, burning into him, he couldn’t judge her for wanting the same.

A tiny _ungh_ noise emerged from the back of Lucy’s throat as she took him all the way in, sinking down entirely on top of him. Wyatt’s vision was still a little blurry and he was so goddamn close to orgasm he could taste it on the tip of his tongue, could feel it buzzing faintly in his ears, but he tried to hold it off as he watched her twist her hips, humming pleasantly as she found the perfect angle.

She started moving brutally fast, clearly in a hurry to get to orgasm, and impatient to take him along with her. “That’s it,” she encouraged when he tentatively thrust up into her, “fuck me hard, sweetheart, just like that, fuck, yes, c’mon—should’ve said it more you’re so good, so good for us, just ours, we’re yours, that’s—it—that—yes—”

Wyatt was just about losing his mind, whimpering a little, it all too much, and then Flynn reached down, tweaked a nipple, and moved his hand up to Wyatt’s throat. “I could kill you,” he mused, his lips brushing against Wyatt’s ear as he squeezed Wyatt’s throat gently for a moment. “This could be how we chose for you to die. If you were anyone else, _anyone_ else, we’d kill you. And if we were extra cruel, this is how we’d do it. Wring one last round out of you.”

He squeezed once more, harder, and dear God it felt so good, it made everything in him spike and Wyatt writhed uncontrollably, his hands in danger of ripping the bedsheets.

“But we won’t.” Flynn relaxed his hand, petting Wyatt’s throat instead. “Because you’re a hotheaded, smarmy, impatient, reckless, stupid son of a bitch.” He hooked a finger under Wyatt’s chin and turned Wyatt’s face, forcing Wyatt to meet his gaze.

Wyatt found he was completely unprepared for the softness he saw in Flynn’s eyes. “And you’re brave, and loyal, and lost, and innocent, and we love you.”

Flynn kissed him, and Lucy gave a wailing sort of moan and said, “Now, sweetheart, now you can,” and he felt her clenching down hot and tight and rippling around him and he couldn’t resist either of them and he fell straight into the abyss and oblivion had never felt so damn good.

 

* * *

 

They planned, of course they had to, and Wyatt knew they needed a man on the inside for it.

Rufus was less-than-pleased to be woken up at an early hour, although the fact that a very pretty girl was the one doing it had placated him somewhat. “Am I supposed to be scared or impressed that you managed to contact me on my personal home computer?” he asked.

“Both?” Jiya replied, waving. “Hi, I’m Jiya, Flynn and Preston’s techie girl. And forger. And whatever else they want.”

“Hey, Jiya, you’re a damn good hacker to get through to me. Pity we can’t be friends.”

“Oh?”

“You’re a Star Trek girl.” Rufus indicated the t-shirt Jiya was wearing. “I’m Star Wars.”

“Pity,” Jiya sighed. “And here I was just thinking about how you were much cuter than Wyatt let on.”

Rufus looked like he was choking.

“All right, all right.” Wyatt moved Jiya aside. “Hey, buddy.”

“…hey, buddy, any reason you and your scary bosses-slash-fuck buddies are Skyping me using an illegal hacker?”

“Ah, yeah, a very good reason. See, um, I’m not going back with you guys.”

There was a pause, and then Rufus said, “Quelle surprise,” in an impressive deadpan.

“What? You do not get to say that.”

“I had to listen to you get—um—you know—by those two, you were—it was pretty clear—you let them do things to you I’m pretty sure you have to be in love with someone to let them do to you,” Rufus finished, his blush showing even through the computer screen.

Wyatt could feel himself blushing as well. “Look, we just—we have to get away, but if we just up and disappear, the feds’ll never stop looking for us. We have a plan, but we’ll need your help. Denise’ll have you on headset, right?”

“Um, I assume so.”

“Great. So Jiya here will get you tuned into our frequency and you can switch to us and tell us where Agent Christopher’s men are so we can keep them at bay.”

“Christopher?” Flynn whistled softly. “No wonder it took Karl so long to sniff you out. She’s good. We’ve run into her once or twice before.”

“She mentioned that.”

“I send her a card every Christmas.”

“She did not mention that but it explains why she dislikes you so much.”

“So that’s it?” Rufus asked, sounding suspicious. “I tell you the positions of the snipers and all?”

“I mean…” Flynn shrugged. “Those snipers will get sniped by our men.”

“For the love of fuck…” Rufus muttered.

“Rufus,” Lucy cut in, “this is our only chance. Flynn and I want out of the business. I don’t know how long you’ve been wire-tapping us or bugging us, not long I’m guessing because the look of horror on Wyatt’s face when you said you could hear us fucking is priceless and I wish I had my camera, but you might have heard that in our conversations. We’ve wanted out for years. That’s been our goal since before we got married. If they catch us, if your boss catches us, I’ll die in prison. Rittenhouse will get me, it’s not a question of if, it’s a question of when. We all know what happened the last time Flynn lost a family. And—”

“And I’m not living without them,” Wyatt cut in firmly. He wanted Rufus to understand that he was in this too, that it was all three of them.

Lucy kissed him softly on the cheek. “Shh my love.” She turned back to Rufus. “Please. We just want out. We’ll give you information on the Petrovs anonymously, through Jiya we can give you any information you want.”

“I’ll turn state’s witness,” Jiya said. “Hell if I’m working for anyone other than these two, they’re the only sane people in this whole damn business.”

“If the world thinks Wyatt and Flynn are dead, they’ll let us go.”

“And you?” Rufus asked.

“I’ll flee in a grief-stricken rage,” Lucy replied.

Wyatt took one of her hands and squeezed it. On her other side he saw Flynn doing the same. Their eyes met over Lucy’s head.

“So that’s how it goes,” Rufus said slowly. “Jiya gives us information on the Petrovs and on your operation, Denise uses that to take at least some of the Petrovs down, if not their entire operation, Flynn and Wyatt are presumed dead—I assume Wyatt will die honorably in some stupid heroic fashion—and Lucy Preston-Flynn is MIA never to be heard or seen again.”

“Everyone wins,” Wyatt said. “You all get commendations, Denise gets the biggest fish of them all, Jiya doesn’t have to work for horrible bosses, the three of us are free to live our lives.”

“I’m a gold mine of information,” Jiya assured him. “I’m also a Sagittarius who loves Fallout and long walks on the beach.”

Rufus blinked at her. “Um—”

“A woman is flirting with you, Rufus, remember this moment,” Wyatt said. “We’ll leave you two to work out the technological details.”

“I’m definitely going to work for Mason after this,” Rufus vowed. “Do you hear me, Wyatt? I’m handing in my resignation.”

“Quote me in your reasons for quitting, Rufus,” Wyatt said, rolling his eyes.

Although he wouldn’t honestly be surprised if he was the reason Rufus needed therapy after all of this.

They then went straight to the tailor’s because the usual Kevlar sewn into all of Flynn’s and Wyatt’s suits might not do it and got a double-breasted set that concealed a proper bulletproof vest—rush order, but they made do. Wyatt and Lucy tested the vest-and-blood combo on some dummies while Flynn and Karl drilled in the strike team formation around the clock.

And then there was nothing to do but go for it.

Rufus had reminded him which shoes had the bugs in them and he’d told Wyatt how well they transmitted, which meant they had to stage their little conversation beforehand, and they couldn’t talk in the car—couldn’t share any last words of affirmation, at least between Wyatt and the other two.

Lucy dared to kiss him on the cheek as the car pulled up, just before they got out. Her hands were trembling.

“ _Moja draga_ ,” Flynn whispered to her. “It’ll be all right.”

He looked over at Wyatt, who nodded. It was now or never.

Flynn took his hand, interlocking their fingers, squeezing gently.

Then he grabbed Wyatt’s wrist, jammed his arm behind his back, and put the gun to his temple.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt lay there in the mess of fake blood, hardly daring to breathe, keeping his eyes closed and his body heavy and limp. The sounds of gunfire were fading rapidly as Karl’s team advanced on Denise’s. Denise, as they’d suspected, knew a losing battle when she saw one and was retreating.

It probably helped that Rufus, on headset, was directing all of them on where Denise’s team and snipers were so they could be taken out.

Wyatt knew he should probably feel some kind of remorse about that. But maybe this undercover work had hardened him, too. He’d do anything to make sure Flynn and Lucy got out and that he got to be with them. Once he might have protested it—he had protested it, to Denise, to anyone who would listen, that there was black and there was white and he knew which he was—but not anymore.

They were all shades of gray here.

He was terrified for Lucy—Emma killing Carol and the brunet who was presumably Nicholas had not been a part of the plan. What else Emma might’ve done to throw a wrench in the works, Wyatt didn’t know, and he knew that a part of Lucy no matter how much she hated it still loved her mother, and so whatever Lucy did to try and get revenge on Emma, he didn’t know either. But so far there was nothing. No sounds of Lucy trying to breach the federal barricade to get to Emma, nothing.

He had to pray that meant she’d stuck to the plan and had decided that Emma going to prison—to rot and die there—was enough revenge for her.

Once everything was silent, he dared to crack an eye open. He strained his ears, listening. He couldn’t be sure that Dave wouldn’t try and come back for him. The way his friend had sounded—that did make Wyatt feel guilty. Dave didn’t know about the deception, about the Kevlar hidden under Wyatt and Flynn’s suits, about the pressure-triggered blood packs.

They knew the discarded guns would be checked by forensics, so they couldn’t take the chance on firing blanks. And having a pressure-triggered blood pack was the safest bet, although it was a pity about the suits. A blood pack triggered any other way could possibly be seen, the wire or tube or inflated ball in the hand… it was riskier, to use real guns, to fire and pray that the bulletproof material actually did its job, but then, as Lucy had pointed out, they’d always known there would come a time when they had to risk it all, when one of them might not make it out.

That was why Lucy wasn’t one of the ones getting shot. Even if it all went wrong, even if Flynn and Wyatt didn’t make it, she would. She’d get out.

There were another few seconds of silence that felt like years, and then measured footsteps approached.

“Logan, you’re clear.”

Wyatt rolled over and looked up at Karl, who appeared pretty nonplussed by this whole thing. “You don’t like me, do you?”

Karl offered a hand and helped him to his feet. “Not really, no. But you make them happy. And I do happen to like them.”

“What will you do now?”

Karl shrugged. “The Petrovs will probably promote me, leave me in charge of this branch. Can’t say I’ll mind.”

“You’ll do a good job,” Wyatt blurted out, and to his surprise he really believed that.

Karl gave him a faint smile. “Thank you.”

Flynn staggered to his feet, grimacing at the mess all over his Huntsman. “Are we sure these stains can’t come out?” he asked.

Wyatt felt such a surge of relief it was like he’d been held up by puppet strings that had suddenly been cut, and he almost sagged to the floor. They’d planned it carefully, so carefully, but there’d always been a chance that it went wrong, that one of them did get hit…

He ran over, his feet moving before he realized he even planned on it, grabbing Flynn by the shoulders and looking up into his eyes. “You’re okay?”

Flynn’s hands settled at his waist. “I’m all right, darling.” His eyes slid over to Karl and so he probably missed how Wyatt just about choked on his own spit.

Flynn had never called him that before. He called Lucy all manner of pet names, and she returned the favor, and she called Wyatt ‘sweetheart’ and so he sort of suspected, or at least hoped, that Lucy had held some kind of romantic affection for him. But Flynn… he was so much harder to read, and even after their making up…

“Plane’s ready to go, boss,” Karl told Flynn. “I can escort you to the tarmac.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Flynn shifted his grip on Wyatt, pulling Wyatt into his side, his arm coming around Wyatt’s back while his other hand let go and stuck out to shake Karl’s hand. “Thank you, for all your dedication.”

“Thank you, sir. Now that it’s all said and done I can say you were a real pain in the ass those first couple of years. But you’ve become a real good guy to have in charge. We’ll miss you.”

“Keep out of trouble.”

“Without you to drag me into it? No offense, boss, but I think I’ll do just fine.” Karl gave a small smile, one with genuine warmth in his eyes, and then snapped off a quick salute.

Then he turned and began to walk away.

Flynn looked oddly touched by that, and perhaps a bit sad. Then he looked over at Wyatt. “I suspect she’ll be getting impatient.”

Wyatt nodded. Lucy had the worst part of it, in a way, waiting in the plane, either for Karl’s signal that all had gone tits up and the pilot was to take off with her alone, or for Flynn and Wyatt to arrive—or for just one of them.

Flynn led him out of the warehouse, towards where Karl had dragged Lucy off, out onto the tarmac where a small jet was waiting for them.

They climbed aboard to find that Lucy had changed out of her dress and heels into practical jeans and a simple top, a soft pink jacket keeping her warm. Her running makeup was still on her face but she’d loosened her hair, run her fingers through it to make it more relaxed. She looked so much softer, and more casual, than Wyatt had ever seen her.

She jumped up as they entered, rushing over and wrapping her arms around both of them. “My boys,” she whispered. She pulled back, touching Wyatt’s face, petting Flynn’s chest. “Oh, my boys, you’re all right? You’re okay?”

“Not a scratch,” Flynn promised her.

Lucy sobbed in relief, jumping up and kissing him, yanking at him until Flynn got his arms around her and lifted her up, her feet coming off the floor. He spun her around a little, making her laugh, their foreheads resting together and their eyes locked on each other, smiling, their relief and love palpable.

Flynn set Lucy down and she turned to Wyatt, sinking into him, tucking her head under his chin. Wyatt hugged her back, petting through her hair, until Lucy tilted her head up and he automatically obliged her with a soft kiss.

“Emma?” Wyatt asked.

Lucy shook her head. “She’ll die in prison,” she said, and her eyes glittered like black stones. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Flynn nodded as if to say he’d also make sure of it. Wyatt supposed that he of all people couldn’t afford to judge if Lucy decided to make sure Emma never got out of prison alive, either through legal or illegal means.

“Nice touch on the makeup,” Wyatt said, pointing at her eyes. Lucy would normally never be caught dead in mascara that wasn’t waterproof.

“Oh, thank you.” Lucy laughed, reaching for a makeup wipe. “I thought so.”

“I thought your friend was going to ruin everything,” Flynn said. “He was determined to get to you, Karl had to keep having them shoot at his feet.”

“Thank you, for sparing him.”

Flynn shrugged. “He’s your friend.”

Wyatt shuffled his feet, unsure, somehow, now that they’d pulled it all off. They were free. The world thought Garcia Flynn was dead. Lucy Preston was MIA. Wyatt himself was presumed dead. Carol and Nicholas, the last of the Rittenhouse line, were dead, and Emma Whitmore was arrested and in prison. It was all over.

So where did that leave them?

Would they really want him, after all that he’d lied to them about? Now that the dust was settled?

“What… what’s the plan?” Wyatt asked.

“The plan?” Flynn looked over at Lucy.

Lucy sipped her champagne. “The plan is to find a house. One with room to grow. The plan is for me to apply to colleges, get my history degree. The plan is to get pregnant, which I’ll need help from both of you on. The plan is to get a boring car with good gas mileage. The plan is to travel and take dorky selfies in front of historic monuments and waterfalls. The plan is to fight with PTA moms instead of mobsters.”

She stood up and walked over to him, setting down her flute of champagne and taking his face in her hands. “The plan is to have a normal, unimportant, unassuming, quiet life, with you. You’re ours. And we’re yours. And I intend to take very, very good care of you both so that we get many, many years of boring mediocrity together.”

Wyatt realized his eyes were wet and he kissed her quickly, trying to cover it up. Lucy kissed him back, giggling a little into his mouth, and he knew that his emotions hadn’t gotten past her.

He pulled away to find Flynn staring at the two of them, a warm, dare he even say besotted, look on his face.

“Come here,” Flynn said quietly.

Wyatt walked over to him. Flynn brushed his knuckles against Wyatt’s cheek. “We can’t do anything legally. Yet. Maybe not in our lifetime. But… we did want to make it clear that this is permanent. Even before—” He swallowed. “Karl’s news, the truth, hit especially hard because we had been talking about making this, us, as permanent as we could.”

“I’ll keep making it up to you, Garcia. No matter what it takes.”

Flynn reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box, holding it out to Wyatt. “What it takes is saying yes.”

Wyatt stared down at the box, then looked up at Flynn, then back over his shoulder at Lucy, starting when he saw her eyes sparkling and wet. She nodded, smiling.

He looked back at Flynn. The last time he’d been in this situation he’d been the one asking, and he’d been so nervous he’d opened the box upside down and dropped the damn ring in the grass. Somehow, he felt just as nervous answering as he had asking.

But he knew there was really only one answer he could possibly give.

“Yes,” he croaked out, his voice rough and breaking a little. “It’s, uh, fuck I’m crying—” He wiped at his eyes. “It’s not even a question, Garcia, of course ye—”

The rest of the word was lost as Flynn got a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him. Wyatt hung on for dear life and gave back as good as he got, and then he felt Lucy’s arms wrap around him and he turned his face and she kissed him, and one of them was sliding the ring onto his finger and there was more champagne and then Lucy and Flynn were kissing him again, and again, and again.

 

* * *

 

They got married the first time in France. Lucy spoke French and insisted they visit. He married her in the Saint-Chapelle, because Flynn heavily bribed one of the guards, the colored light from the stained-glass windows bathing all of them in rainbows.

They got married the second time on a beach in Croatia, where Lucy and Flynn had spent their honeymoon, Flynn holding his hands and Lucy taking pictures of the two of them nonstop the whole time. Lucy coached Wyatt on some phrases to say in Croatian, and the look on Flynn’s face when he said them in his wedding vows was absolutely priceless.

They got married the third time in Cape Town after a two-month safari when Lucy and Wyatt had been bickering for three days and he hated mosquitos and the heat and missed the snow and Flynn watched them with an amused smile on his face and when confronted on it told them he’d marry them both all over again right that second because they were so goddamn endearing and stubborn. So they got married.

They did it the fourth time in Iceland because Lucy started crying at a waterfall and it was a kind of three-way handfasting ceremony that wasn’t legally recorded anywhere and then they got spectacularly drunk and Lucy said that the fairies had blessed their union, which Wyatt was pretty sure came from letting her go into too many museums.

The fifth time was on accident, sort of, when Flynn trusted Wyatt with booking the hotel in Shanghai and he accidentally got the honeymoon suite and so Lucy and Flynn got married in a Buddhist ceremony to go along with it.

They got married in New Delhi just because Indian weddings were the most fun goddamn weddings ever, according to Wyatt.

They did it in Antarctica for the bragging rights, him and Flynn, because the only thing better than saying you got married in Antarctica was saying you got gay married in Antarctica.

And, well, when everyone around you in the hotel in Hawaii is getting married and you’ve got a competitive streak a mile wide… you end up getting married there too. Although Lucy maintained the whole time that really, Garcia, this is unnecessary, please don’t crash the stupid hundred-thousand-dollar wedding next door, I know they’re boring white stuck-up people but _please_.

And the last time they did it was in São Paulo, Lucy and Flynn, and somehow made a group of new friends along the way who partied with them until four a.m. to show them a ‘proper’ wedding. Wyatt hadn’t danced so much or eaten so much in his whole life.

But every time—every single time—it was like new all over again. The words, the look in Lucy and Flynn’s eyes, the meaning, the soft press of their mouths against his, watching their love for one another, feeling their love for him…

They could get married a hundred, a thousand times.

And Wyatt knew it would never get old.

Also, as Flynn said, they now had a nice collection of marriage certificates to hang on the wall for shits and giggles and to confuse the neighbors.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt was pretty sure there was nothing better than lying on a beach on a nice, warm day.

“Wyaaaaaaatt.”

…except for maybe lying on a beach on a nice warm day and undisturbed by mischievous women who wanted to lure him into the water.

“No, Lucy.”

“Come into the waaaaaater,” she said, taking his hand and tugging on it.

Wyatt kept his eyes closed. “’m sleeping.”

“No you’re not, you’re being a party pooper.”

“One margarita,” Flynn said, striding over and passing the drink to Lucy. “And one Corona.”

Wyatt sat up, taking the beer—and then taking the phone that was passed to him. “What’s this?”

Flynn sat down, sipping his own beer. “It’s been a year. Thought you might want to give your friend Dave a call. Let him know you’re okay.”

Wyatt pushed himself up and kissed Flynn, scattering sand and nearly knocking his beer over but he didn’t care, not when Flynn was laughing into the kiss all surprised like he’d just handed Wyatt an ice cream cone instead of a way to contact his former best friend.

“I guess that means I have to actually look at the syllabus,” Lucy said, sipping her margarita. “Ugh.”

She’d applied and gotten accepted to Stanford as a history major, so they’d relocated to San Francisco. Wyatt was thinking of being a private investigator. Flynn had no idea what he was going to do and was occupying himself by terrifying every realtor in the Bay Area as he looked for a proper house for them. After all, they had no shortage of cash.

Of course, this was after they’d spent a year gallivanting around the world because a) who didn’t like travel and b) it was better to be safe than sorry as far as the Petrovs and anyone else, including Denise, was concerned.

Wyatt had spent about the first three months panicking that they'd get sick of each other now that they didn't have to be together out of necessity, and then the next three months panicking that they'd never get used to normal life and had become addicted to that dark world as much as they simultaneously hated it. But over time he'd started to relax, and in turn he'd started to see how happy Lucy and Garcia were. They laughed freely and easily now. The lines around Flynn's face had softened, and Lucy was dorky and goofy and awkward, a completely different person, at least in some ways, from the commanding queen that Wyatt had first come to know.

(Although she was still in charge in the bedroom and frankly he was happy to let her be.)

Wyatt got up. “I’m going to go call Dave, I’ll be back.”

Convincing his best friend that he was, in fact, alive and always had been, ended up taking longer than he’d thought. He had to conference call Rufus into it so that Rufus could explain that yes, Wyatt had faked his death, so had Flynn and Lucy, and also by the way since we’re on the subject, he and Jiya were engaged. Then he had to put up with Dave—understandably—yelling at him for a good long while.

At the end of it, though, Dave asked him, "I just want to know one thing: are you happy?"

"Yeah, Dave," he told him. "I am. I really. Really am." He swallowed. "I'll be honest I... I think of Jess, sometimes, and I think... I like to think that she's happy for me. I think she'd be glad, that I got where I am. Even if she'd be sad about some of the ways I had to get there."

"You know Jess, always willing to do anything for a story. I think she'd understand." He could hear the smile in Dave's voice. "I get that you can't visit but, maybe I could visit you? Finally get to properly meet these two psychos you gave up your life for."

"That's the thing," Wyatt replied, knowing he sounded super cheesy and not giving a damn. "They gave it back to me."

"You absolute sap."

"You're welcome to visit anytime, by the way. I think Lucy would like you."

"And the other one?"

"...Garcia doesn't like most people." Wyatt thought Dave would grow on him, though.

Dave laughed. "All right, then. I'll let you get back to them now. And Wyatt?"

"Yeah?"

"I still love you, man. Even if that was a cheap move."

"It was. I'm glad you can forgive me. I love you too, bud."

He hung up the phone, feeling that last bit of guilt leave his shoulders, the weight finally dissolving.

He really did believe that, about Jess. She would've gotten along a little too well with Flynn, and she would've adored Lucy. And they would've adored her. He just knew it. He hoped that wherever she was, she was happy, and glad to know that he was finally happy, too.

By the time he got back to the hotel, it was sunset. “Lucy?” he called, opening the door to their room. “Garcia?”

The light in the bathroom was on. Flynn emerged, his eyes wide. Wyatt stopped short. “Everything okay?”

Flynn grabbed him in and hugged him, bone-crushingly tight. Wyatt clung back, fear overtaking him. “Did they find us? Are they—where’s Lucy?”

Lucy emerged, looking ill. “Sorry, sorry, just—I threw up.” He could see that she’d been crying.

“What’s wrong?”

She shrugged. “No more margaritas for a while, that’s all.”

“…you’re allergic?”

Lucy shook her head, a smile of pure joy spreading over her face. “No, sweetheart. No more margaritas for nine months.”

He stared at her, his mouth falling open, and then he was hugging her, and Lucy was laughing and crying, and Flynn was hugging them both and looking like he might pass out, and Wyatt was kissing both of them and watching them kiss and he’d never been happier in his life.

Their new life was in front of them.

And the possibilities were endless.


End file.
